


Longing to Love You

by snarkymuch



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Angst and Feels, Asthma, Asthmatic Steve Rogers, Bucky Still Becomes The Winter Soldier, Childhood Friends, Friendship, Getting Together, Grief/Mourning, Growing Up Together, Happy Ending, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Kissing, M/M, Marvel Reverse Big Bang 2020, Mutual Pining, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Pre-Captain America: The First Avenger, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Sick Steve Rogers, Slow Dancing, canon adjacent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:15:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27578363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarkymuch/pseuds/snarkymuch
Summary: The first time they met, Steve thought the other boy was a demon, and Bucky thought Steve was an idiot. Two young boys with wildly different circumstances meet and grow up together, eventually falling in love. No matter how far you run, you can't escape the past.“What happened?"Bucky ducked his head, waving a hand in the direction of his horns. “We all had ‘em. We’re not—we weren’t exactly human, as you probably guessed. There’s not really a term for us that I know of that fits, but I guess the closest might be a satyr."“Oh, like the myth? I’ve read about those.”Bucky nodded. “My family moved here to hide. People were hunting us. They wanted our blood, they wanted to do experiments.” The last word was said with a sneer. Bucky began to rub his wrists. “We’d made a home in the country in Indiana, but they found us.” He pressed his lips into a frown, looking down at his hands. “My parents died helping me and Becca escape, but whatever they did to her, the stuff they gave her, she didn’t make it. She died before the sun came up the next day.”
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 79
Kudos: 73
Collections: Marvel Reverse Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Horned Bucky](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27578417) by [greywrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greywrites/pseuds/greywrites). 



> This is my submission for the Marvel Reverse Big Bang 2020. My partner and amazing artist is [greywrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/greywrites/pseuds/greywrites). There are six chapters, and it will update once a day for the next six days.

The remnants of sickness clung to Steve, but he was determined to sneak out. He'd spent most of the spring in bed, struggling with constricted lungs and fevers. His mother, Sarah, couldn't afford to stay home with him any longer, so she'd made him promise to stay inside until she got home that evening, but Steve had no plans to do that. Instead, he watched her from the window until she disappeared from sight, then put on his too-big shoes and his raggedy jacket and slipped out the door.

He didn’t have a destination in mind. He just wanted to feel the sun on his face, not filtered by the window’s glass. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he kept his chin held high and walked through the streets. He nodded to the men unloading goods at the grocery store and smiled and greeted the women he passed. For a few minutes, he felt like any other ten-year-old.

Wandering until his legs started to ache and his lungs burned, he found himself on the edges of the city, looking at rundown buildings and an old boarded-up church. The white paint was peeling from the siding, and the bell was missing from the steeple. All the windows were boarded up, and the weeds beside the steps were knee-high. Something about it made him curious. He wanted to investigate. It reminded him of the haunted places he heard about in the ghost stories his mother would sometimes tell him for fun.

Glancing around to see if anyone was looking, which no one was, he hurried over to the church and started looking around. Two large boards were nailed across the front doors, sealing them shut, so he wasn't getting in that way. He went down the side of the building, weeds and grass scratching against his pants. They made his nose itch, and he had to bite back a sneeze.

He gave each of the boards on the windows a tug, trying to find a loose one, but they were all nailed in tight. His shoulders dropped as he realized that he wasn’t finding a way inside. His toe scuffed the dirt, and dejected, he made his way towards the back of the church that was blocked off by a pile of broken bricks.

Carefully, he climbed over them, scraping his palms and digging them into his knees. When he got to the other side, he dusted off his hands and looked around. Much to his surprise, there was a back door, and the boards that once secured the door shut had been pulled free, dangling from the frame.

His heart sped, beating an irregular rhythm against his ribs. He licked his lips and glanced around one last time before grabbing the worn handle and trying the door. With a whine of protest, it creaked open, revealing the darkness inside. It was a stark contrast to the sunny spring day.

Beams of light cut through the inky dark from the boarded-up windows, highlighting the motes of dust in the air. As his eyes adjusted, he could see the upturned pews and old books on the floor. Curiously, along the benches' seats were candles that had melted in place, like someone recently had burned them.

Careful of the rickety step, he moved into the open space, the hairs on his arms raising with goosebumps. His nose began to run a little from the dust, and he sniffled, itching it with the side of his hand. It was a little disappointing. Though he hadn't wanted to meet a ghost, he was hoping for more of an adventure. No one ever let him have those. He only read about them in his books.

Just as his shoulders dropped and he turned to leave, something crashed in the darkness at the far end of the room. Steve squinted, trying to see what had fallen but couldn't make anything out. He chewed his lip for a moment, his ma's voice in the back of his head, warning him about playing with dangerous things like ghosts and demons. He'd been raised a catholic, and his ma had always told him the devil was always out there, trying to meddle in your life. Steve shouldn't tempt him.

A floorboard creaked not far from the crash, and Steve's chest seemed to tighten, and his palms grew sweaty. He rubbed them on his pants. Balling his hands into fists, he lifted his chin and began to creep toward the far corner of the church.

“Hello, um, if you’re there, you should come out.” He frowned at how shaky his voice sounded. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I’m not gonna hurt you, unless you’re a demon. I ain’t afraid.”

It might have been his mind playing tricks on him, but he swore he heard a snort.

Steve stepped around some candles and a stack of canned goods. Upon closer inspection, he saw some open, empty cans and a can opener, too. He didn't think demons or ghosts ate, but maybe he was wrong.

He peeked down the alleys between the dust-covered pews but didn't see anyone or anything, not that he knew what a ghost or demon looked like. He started to think that maybe a squatter was living there, and the noises he heard were all in his head.

Reaching the front of the church, he looked around in the darkness and sighed. Nothing. He resigned to walking home when he heard something scuff against the floor to his left. His head snapped toward the sound, and he squinted into the shadows. Adrenaline jolted his weak heart like electricity when one of the shadows shifted, a shadow that looked an awful lot like a person, a person a little bigger than him.

“I see you there!” Steve said, trying to add steel to his voice. “Come on out.”

The shadow moved again. “Why should I come out? This is my house.”

“This ain’t no house,” Steve argued, his chin jutting out a little. “This is a church.”

"Well, a house is where you live, ain't it? This is where I live, so as far as I see it, it's a house." 

Steve considered his words. “Are you a ghost?”

The shadow laughed. “That what you were looking for?”

Steve shrugged, feeling a little lost as to what he expected now. Whoever this was, they sounded the same age as Steve or close. He didn’t want to think that some kid was really living in the creepy church. Steve and his ma might not have much, but he had a bed and heat in the winter, most of the time. Looking around now, he could see signs of someone spending a lot of time there. Below one of the windows, against the wall, were blankets and some grain sacks on the floor.

Steve felt bad for him.

“If you’re not a ghost, why don’t you come out? It’s not like I’m gonna hurt ya or anything,” Steve said, adding quickly after, "though I could if I needed to. I know how to fight.”

There was the snort again. “With an attitude like that, I’m sure you get the chance to show off those fighting skills all the time.” There was silence for a moment, then he heard a floorboard creak. “I can’t come out, though.”

“Why not? You scared or something? I’m not scared. I came in here, didn’t I?”

“I’m not scared, you dummy, but if you see me, you’ll go running your jab all over, and I can’t have that.”

Steve frowned, wondering what he could be hiding. “Are ya ugly?”

“Are you always so rude?”

“You always such a jerk?”

“Punk,” the shadow said. “Tell you what, I’ll come out, but you got to promise not to say anything stupid or go running and telling.”

“I promise I won’t tell a soul, as long as you’re not a ghost.”

“I’m not a ghost, but …”

“But what?”

“Nothing, just keep your promise. I don’t want to have to hurt ya.”

Steve rolled his eyes. He was pretty sure he could take that kid. He was getting better about holding his own. “I told you I would.”

The shadow moved, and a moment later, out stepped a boy who stood inches taller than him. He had dark shaggy hair and dirty clothes, suspenders holding up a pair of too-big pants. It wasn't until he lifted his chin that Steve got a good look at his face; a pair of stormy grey eyes stared him down, but that wasn't all. The boy's hair fell to the side, revealing something near his temple, and on closer inspection, there was a matching bump on the other side of his head, too. It almost looked like the start of horns.

He was rooted to the spot, not wanting to back down and show fear, but he was scared. He might not be a ghost, but he could be something else.

“Are you a demon?” Steve asked.

The boy frowned, shaking his head, which made the horns, because what else could you call them, more visible. His hair parted over one, and Steve could see the weathered-looking horn peeking out.

“I wouldn’t be in a church if I were a demon. I’m just—I'm just something else. Nothing bad, though. I won’t hurt ya.”

“I ain’t ever seen someone with horns before.”

"I ain't ever seen someone so scrawny before, so I guess we're even."

Despite knowing his ma would want him to turn tail and leave, Steve found his lips quirking up in a smile. “My name’s Steve, Steve Rogers. You got a name?”

The boy’s grey-blue eyes searched his face, and then his expression softened, and he smiled. “James Barnes, but only my ma called me James. You can call me Bucky.”

“Nice to meet you, Bucky,” Steve said with a nod, jutting out his hand toward Bucky, who stared at it for a second before moving forward and giving it a shake. Steve smiled, wide and genuine. “So, you wanna be friends?”

* * *

Steve didn't learn much about Bucky during his visit, other than that he was a year older than Steve and lived alone in the church. Whenever Steve had asked about his family, Bucky would get real quiet, and his eyes would turn sad, and he'd look a little lost. After seeing him shut down like that, Steve decided to avoid the topic from there on out.

It had been a week since he first met Bucky, and Steve hadn't been back to the church, not because he didn't want to, but because his lingering cough had returned and his asthma had been acting up. The church was a long walk from his apartment in his condition, and he knew better than to press his luck.

Saturday morning, Steve was finally feeling better, and his ma reluctantly agreed he could go exploring. Grabbing his bag, he tucked a few books, pencils, and his notebook into it. On the way out the door, he snatched one of his ma's sugar cookies and stuffed it into his pocket with plans to split it with Bucky.

By the time he got to the church, he was wheezing something awful, but he tried to coax his lungs into calming down. He walked down the path to the back door, climbing over the debris, and then stopping in front of the door. Now that he knew that Bucky lived here, it didn't seem right to just barge in, so he raised a hand and rapped his knuckles against the painted wood and waited.

A minute passed, and no one answered, so Steve leaned his head toward the door to listen, even though his hearing wasn't that great. It didn't sound like anyone was inside. Frowning, he raised his fist and knocked on the door a little harder. Maybe Bucky hadn't heard him.

“Bucky, you home?” He pounded on the wood again. “I brought some books and one of my ma’s cookies.”

The door handle squeaked, and then the door opened, revealing a wide-eyed Bucky. "You came back?"

Steve shrugged. “Of course. I said we were friends, right?”

Bucky nodded and stepped back, letting Steve pass through the door. Same as before, it took a few minutes for his eyes to adjust. After closing the door, Bucky led Steve to one of the pews, and after shucking off his backpack, Steve went to sit down but stopped when he remembered the cookie. He fished it out of his pocket and dusted it off, snapping it in two.

"Here," Steve said, holding the cookie out. "It's good, I swear. Sorry, it's not more, though. We don't—well, we don't have much right now, but it's okay. We get by."

Bucky tucked his bangs back, exposing his horns, his grey-blue eyes sliding to the cookie in Steve’s hand. He looked hesitant to reach for it, so Steve wiggled it in the air.

“Come on, I swear my ma’s a good cook.”

With a frown, Bucky reached out and snagged the cookie from Steve’s hand, bringing it to his face to sniff. Steve raised his brows but didn’t say anything, just watched while Bucky took a little nibble of the crumbly corner.

“Well?” Steve prodded. “Whatcha think?”

Instead of answering, Bucky chomped down the cookie in two bites, his cheek puffed out as he chewed. After swallowing it down, he licked his lips, making sure he got all the crumbs.

“S’good,” Bucky said, his eyes on Steve’s cookie.

Bucky seemed really hungry, and Steve realized it had probably been a long time since he’d had a treat. Not feeling too hungry himself anymore, he held out his half to Bucky. “You can have my half. I don’t really want it.”

“You sure?”

Steve plastered on a smile. “I’m sure. I can always get more.”

Bucky’s eyes flicked from the cookie to Steve and then back again. He licked his lips before reaching out and snatching the treat like Steve would change his mind. Bucky ate this half slower than the last, like he was savoring it.

While Bucky finished his cookie, Steve got comfortable on the pew and started digging around in his bag for a book. He’d brought a few for Bucky to read, figuring it must get boring being alone in a church all the time.

He pulled a well-worn copy of Dick Tracy from his bag just as Bucky took a seat beside him, one of his legs folded under him. “What’s that?” Bucky asked.

“Oh, well, I brought it for you.” Steve passed the book to Bucky, who slowly reached out for it. “It’s about a detective. I thought you might like it. I’ve read it a few times.”

Bucky ducked his head, and a column of light cutting across the room from the broken window caught his horn. They looked older than Bucky, or maybe that was just how horns looked with age. The surface of them wasn't smooth. There were tiny grooves, and the base of them was more yellowed and browner. Steve pulled his gaze away from them when Bucky spoke.

“Thanks for the book and all, but I can’t, um, I mean, I never learned to read right. Couldn’t really go to regular school. But I tried teaching myself. I think I know some words. I practiced with the old bibles around here.”

Steve shrugged, not willing to let something like that stop him from helping Bucky. “Then I guess I’ll just have to teach, won’t I?”

And that was how it went, that was how the first bricks of a friendship that would transcend time were laid. Even though no one witnessed the small acts of kindness, they still changed the course of history. Something was forming between Steve and Bucky that would change history. 

* * *

“Are you forgetting which one of us looks like a stiff wind could knock them over?” Bucky asked. 

A year had passed since Steve had first stumbled into the dark and dusty church, and in that time, they'd become thick as thieves. Little separated them, but that didn't mean that they always saw eye to eye.

Bucky’s shaggy hair no longer fully covered his horns, and there was no other name for them. They’d begun to curl just slightly like he imagined a goat’s or sheep’s might. He was looking at Steve with his eyebrows raised, his expression daring Steve to challenge him, which that alone made Steve jut out his chin in response.

In Steve’s hand was a small sack of bruised apples and a little chunk of cheese. It wasn’t much, Steve had worked at the grocery store, stocking shelves every week to save up for it, but Bucky wanted nothing to do with his charity. And it wasn’t even really charity. Steve figured he owed Bucky for all the times in the last year he’d patched him up after a fight, which was a whole other topic Bucky had opinions on, other than taking the food that he clearly needed.

It wasn’t like Bucky could go out and get a job with his unique circumstances. Steve understood completely why he hid, but it couldn’t be good to eat scraps from the dumpster behind the restaurant either, which was what Bucky did most days.

Steve doubted he'd had anything that passed as fresh in years, but that didn't seem to bother Bucky. He'd dug his heels in about the subject, firmly refusing any help from Steve, citing that he needed to take care of himself first because, as Bucky told him, collarbones weren't meant to be pointy. Not like Steve could help his bird bones and slight frame. He was pretty sure that even if he wasn't dirt poor and had all the fancy food, he'd still be nothing more than a walking skeleton. His ma was thin boned, too, and he didn't know his pa, but the photo his mother kept of him showed a rather wiry framed man.

“You need to eat something other than moldy bread and spoiled meat.”

Bucky scowled, his young face looking insulted. "S'not rotten. I might have horns, but I ain't an animal. My ma raised me better than that. I wait in the alley, so it's always fresh."

Steve pursed his lips, gripping the sack tighter in his hand. "Would you just stop being so thick-headed and take this already?"

They stared at each other. If there was one true fact about Steve Rogers, it was that he had a stubborn streak a mile wide, and he didn't back down from a fight. He wasn't leaving until he took the apples and cheese. Bucky needed it more than he did.

Steve's eyes began to water from staring unblinkingly at Bucky, then Bucky's eye twitched, and he looked away, stomping forward and snatching the bag from Steve. Steve couldn't repress the grin that was spreading across his face. He really liked to win.

Bucky took the sack over toward where he slept and stuck in under his nest of blankets. The fresh food was a rare treat, and Steve knew he would treasure them and try to make them last. Bucky stashed all his most prized possessions between his bed and the wall, hidden under the blankets, which included a selection of comics and books that Steve had given him over the last year.

It hadn't taken long for Bucky to learn to read. Steve was amazed at how sharp he was. If it weren't for the horns keeping him from school, Bucky would be well ahead of Steve. Bucky was curious by nature, always asking questions and itching to know more.

But that didn’t change his circumstances. Bucky rarely, if ever, left the church, only for food. Steve never brought it up, but he knew it couldn’t be easy on him. The lack of socialization showed in him at times, like he didn’t always know how to respond to Steve’s kindness. He’d look puzzled and hesitate a little too long. It made something in Steve’s stomach settle a little sickly. He didn’t like to think of Bucky struggling at anything. They’d become good friends and watched each other’s backs.

* * *

The winter of ‘31 was especially cold, and at thirteen, Steve was still just as frail and prone to pneumonia with his poor lungs as ever. One of the ladies from his ma’s church had knit Steve a few hats to stay warm. The yarn was just bulky enough that Steve thought one of the hats just might hide Bucky’s horns.

The walk to the abandoned church wasn’t a short one, and by halfway there, he was wheezing something awful. The cold air stung his cheeks and nose, and he was rasping for breath through his mouth. He kept marching on, though, one foot in front of the other, his too big, hand-me-down boots doing little to warm his feet. The hole near his big toe letting the slushy snow inside.

His mother would kill him if she knew he was out there. She struggled to keep food on the table and to pay the bills. It seemed every month that the doctor was being called to the house for Steve, and he knew it wasn’t cheap. The medicine for his last bout of pneumonia cost them so much that his ma hadn’t been able to meet the rent on time. Steve only knew because he heard her begging Mr. Roberts for more time. Thankfully, he took pity, being a widower himself.

Steve let himself in when he got to Bucky's church, nearly slipping on the steps. He knew his lips must be tinted blue as he struggled to breathe. The air inside the church wasn't much warmer than the outside, but the difference in temperature tightened up his lungs even more. The small wood stove in the church's back was lit, and Bucky was crouched beside it.

Steve broke into a round of strangled coughs, nearly toppling over. The wheezing was getting worse, and so was his panic. It made each breath harder to take, and before long, his stuttered breaths were barely moving air.

Bucky was at his side in a second. He was a little taller now, standing inches over Steve, and despite not having much food, he’d started filling out with muscle.

Steve’s lungs make horrible wheezing, sucking sounds, and he met Bucky’s gaze with panicked eyes.

“Shit, Stevie, you gotta calm down. Come here, come sit over here.”

Bucky pulled him along to a spot by the fire where Bucky had moved his bed. Steve stumbled over his own wet feet, throat and chest sucking in with each breath. Bucky reassured him as he pushed Steve by the shoulders to sit on the floor and then took up a place behind him, Steve's back to Bucky's chest.

Steve tried to curl forward, struggling, but Bucky gently took his chin and drew Steve’s head back to rest against his shoulder.

"Keep breathing, nice and slow, Stevie." Bucky loosened the collar of Steve's coat and then pressed a hand to his chest. "You feel that? You feel me breathing, breathe with me, Steve. You can do it."

Tears sprung to Steve's eyes, but he kept struggling, forcing his lungs to work, and then the wheezing got louder, but he could breathe a little better. His lungs sounded wet and congested, but it was okay because the panic was fading. Then the coughing started, and he doubled over as the force of them wracked his frame. Bucky kept him in his arms, shushing him and rubbing his back and arms.

“I brought you a hat,” Steve said finally after his lungs settled a bit.

“What?”

Steve sucked in a breath, patting for his pocket and then finding it. He pulled out the chunky hat and pressed it into Bucky’s hand. “I thought it might make things easier, you could go out.” It would cover your horns, he didn’t say.

Bucky fingers tightened around the knit hat, and Steve felt him draw in a breath, holding it for a moment before speaking in a voice rough with emotion. "Thanks, Stevie."


	2. Chapter 2

In the last two years, Bucky had filled out even more, growing a few more inches, his jaw gaining a fine scruff. The changes in him sparked something in Steve and changing the way he looked at him. He knew it wasn’t right, but he felt something stir in him when he looked at Bucky, like a magnet was pulling him closer. Some days it took everything not to reach out and brush his fingers over the nape of Bucky's neck. If Bucky noticed his lingering glances, he never mentioned them, and sometimes Steve was pretty sure he caught Bucky watching him, too, so maybe he wasn’t the only one being tempted by the devil.

It was summer, and the air in the church was stifling, making Steve's breathing tight. Sweat was collecting on Steve's shirt, dampening the fabric and smelling in the heat. Bucky was shirtless by the window, sitting in one of the chairs he'd collected over the years, whittling a stick into something that looked like a spoon. His hair hung down past his ears in sweat-damp ropes, and his horns were curled now, having grown longer and thicker. They framed his face. A hat could no longer hide them. He went out less now than before, unable to risk being seen.

The late afternoon sunlight cut through the thick air in columns, dust motes floating through it, one such beam passing just in front of Bucky. Steve adjusted his grip on his pencil and scratched a few more lines against the paper. The lighting sharpened the lines of Bucky’s chin and jaw. This wasn’t the first picture of Bucky that Steve had sketched, and it wouldn’t be the last. His notebook was full of them, moments in time captured on paper. He’d gotten better at drawing over the years, but he’d always been fairly good. His ma called it a gift. Steve called it his consolation prize for being born into such a sickly body.

Steve tried to get the little lines at the corner of Bucky’s eyes on the smudged paper. Those laugh lines were one of the things that Steve loved about Bucky. He liked the way they crinkled when he laughed at something funny Steve did, always with a little shake of the head like he couldn’t quite believe whatever antic Steve was involved in at the time.

A bead of sweat rolled down Bucky’s neck and then trailed toward his muscled chest. Steve’s eyes followed its path, and he found himself wanting to taste his skin. The thought came on so suddenly it surprised Steve and made him feel a little sick. He wasn’t supposed to think of other boys like that. Everyone knew how dangerous it was to be queer, but that’s exactly what Steve knew he was, despite being raised by an Irish catholic.

As much as he loved his mother, he didn’t think he could ever tell her about his desires. She’d insist he go to the church to ask forgiveness, and maybe that was the right thing to do, but Steve couldn’t deny who he was any better than Bucky could deny his horns. Perhaps they were both damned, but if he had Bucky at his side, that didn’t sound so bad.

He tucked away the guilt and tried not to think of the consequences. Between horns and impure desires, he and Bucky were quite a pair. At least they could be sinners together. Whatever their fate, they had each other.

Steve’s eyes lifted from the page when he saw Bucky stand, tossing the knife and wood on his seat. He rubbed his forehead and squinted, his fingers gently touching the base of his horns.

“You okay, Buck?”

The other boy didn’t answer straight away. He just kept rubbing his forehead, which made Steve set his notebook on the floor and stand. “The heat in here too much or something?”

Bucky shrugged and deflated with a sigh. He dropped his hand, and grey-blue eyes met crystal blue. "Just a headache. Nothing to worry about."

Steve frowned, and he lifted his eyes to look over the base of Bucky’s horns where he’d been rubbing. The area was a little red and puffy, and not for the first time, Steve wondered if the horns caused Bucky pain, but he figured if Bucky didn’t want to talk about it, he wouldn’t push. Looking back to meet Bucky’s eyes, he said, “Anything I can do? Ma always keeps something for fevers and pain in the cabinet at home. I can run and grab you something.”

Bucky shook his head, his hand hesitating like he wanted to touch his head again. “You don’t have to, not in this heat. Thanks, though. It’s just the—it's the horns, I think. They do this sometimes, usually when they’re growing.”

"Oh, right, well, would a distraction help? We could play a game of cards, or I could go if you want to lay down."

Bucky considered for a moment before giving a nod. “I’ll get the cards, but don’t think you’re getting away with cheating this time. I’ll be watching.”

Steve grinned. “S’not cheating. It’s talent, Buck. Can’t help I got a gift for kicking your ass.”

Bucky rolled his eyes as he went to the back of the church and grabbed the folding card table. Steve grabbed one of the chairs Bucky had collected and dragged it over to where Bucky was setting up the table. A few minutes later, Bucky was snatching the cards from Steve’s hand with a smirk. “Trust you dealing about as far as I can throw you.”

“I ain’t that heavy, Buck.”

Bucky huffed a laugh and started shuffling the cards. “What we playing anyway?”

“Bridge? We can bend the rules a little for the two of us.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Of course, that’s what you’d pick. From what you’ve told me, your ma is a shark at that game, and I’m sure she’s taught you everything she knows.”

“Not everything, I never win against her or the other ladies from the library.”

"Alright, well, take it easy on me."

The sunlight was fading from the windows, and their game had devolved into childish insults and something that played more like poker than bridge. They were both laughing, tears pricking Steve's eyes, his belly aching from the strain. It was the best evening Steve had spent with Bucky in a while, and it figured that he would go putting his foot squarely in his mouth and ruining it.

As Steve caught his breath, he leaned back in the old chair, causing it to creak under his unimpressive weight. He blinked a few times, wiping his eyes, taking in Bucky before him. His friend looked happy, but there was still a shadow in his eyes, and his horns left so many questions. Steve had spent the past few years since he’d met Bucky pretending not to see them, but they were so obvious and real, demanding attention.

Steve wanted to know so much about Bucky that he didn’t know, like where was he from? Was he human? He’d said when they’d first met that he wasn’t a demon, but what did that make him? Don’t get him wrong, he wasn’t afraid of him. It was just that if he was going to risk it all on Bucky, he wanted to know more about him.

From the few conversations they'd had over the years, Steve knew that Bucky had had at least a mother and father that he loved. Whenever Bucky mentioned his ma, he would get this sad smile, like it hurt to remember, but he was happy not to forget.

“What happened to your family?”

Bucky's eyes snapped up to Steve, and the cards were dropped onto the table. Steve swore he could see the color drain from his friend's face. Bucky licked his lips and then turned his head, looking at the boarded-up window with a shake of his head.

Steve swallowed, knowing from his reaction alone that he'd crossed a line, and now he wasn't sure how to get the spilt milk back in the bottle. "Sorry, Buck. I shouldn't have asked."

Bucky turned back to him, his eyes glassy. “Nah, it’s alright. Honestly, I figured you’d have asked before now.”

Steve chewed his lip. “My pa died before I was born.”

Bucky let out a heavy breath. “My parents, they were the best thing a kid could ask for growing up. I had a sister, too. Her name was Becca.”

“What happened?”

Bucky ducked his head, waving a hand in the direction of his horns. “We all had ‘em. We’re not—we weren’t exactly human, as you probably guessed. There’s not really a term for us that I know of that fits, but I guess the closest might be a satyr.”

“Oh, like the myth? I’ve read about those.”

Bucky nodded. “My family moved here to hide. People were hunting us. They wanted our blood, they wanted to do _experiments_.” The last word was said with a sneer. Bucky began to rub his wrists. “We’d made a home in the country in Indiana, but they found us.” He pressed his lips into a frown, looking down at his hands. “My parents died helping me and Becca escape, but whatever they did to her, the stuff they gave her, she didn’t make it. She died before the sun came up the next day.”

Steve didn't know what to say. Bucky had gone from never saying a word about his past to revealing something incredibly personal and traumatic. Steve's initial reaction was shock, then sadness, finally settling on anger. How dare someone do that to another person, whether they were all human or not. It didn't matter to Steve. Bucky had proved himself just as human as anyone else, and he didn't deserve what had happened. His family hadn't deserved it.

He found himself pursing his lips and furrowing his brow as he thought about what Bucky told him.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything,” Bucky backtracked. “I’m sure you weren’t wanting to hear about something like that when you asked.”

"No, no, it's fine, Buck." Steve's eyes widened, and his expression softened. "It was a shock, but I'm glad you told me. Besides, it was me asking. I knew it might not be good. My ma raised me better than to be nosy, but my curiosity got the better of me," he explained, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "I should be saying sorry, not just for asking, but because, jeez, Buck, that was just awful. I can't believe you—that was your family. I can't imagine going through that."

Bucky gave a tight nod and then ran a hand over his face. Steve wanted to offer him comfort, but he didn’t know how, he didn’t know what would be welcome. And they were in a church, abandoned or not, it was holy ground. It seemed wrong to indulge his desires to touch Bucky within its walls. Even if those touches were innocent.

Bucky picked up the cards and began shuffling the deck again. “How about we play another round, poker this time, aces high?”

When he looked up at Steve again, the plea to leave the conversation alone was clear in his eyes. Steve nodded and forced himself to smile, even though it probably looked strained.

“Still don’t know how you got so good at this,” Steve said, collecting his cards, “considering I taught you the game.”

Bucky shrugged. “I guess I’m just that good, punk.”

“Maybe, but you’re still a jerk.”

* * *

Steve hadn’t meant to get into a fight, he never did, but he couldn’t stand by and watch a fella treating his lady badly. When the man coming out of the bar had yanked his girl’s arm and made her wince, Steve had seen red and reacted on instinct, grabbing the guy’s upper arm and spinning him around on the spot.

The man startled, and Steve took the distraction to get right into his face, telling him in no uncertain terms that he shouldn't be treating a lady so rough. The man laughed, shoving his girl to the side and landing a fist in Steve's face before he could even dodge. He crumpled to the ground, hand wiping the blood from his nose and mouth. His mouth tasted like copper.

The man who hit him laughed, “That’s what I thought,” and grabbed his girl to walk away when Steve shot to his feet and moved to clobber him from behind, but he was stopped by a strong arm around his chest, dragging him back into the alley.

“Hey, let me go!” He struggled in the person’s arms, wriggling until a gruff voice growled in his ear.

“Cut it out before you make even more of a scene.”

Steve immediately quieted. He knew that voice. It belonged to the man that occupied his thoughts and dreams. It was Bucky. What was he doing out in the day?

“What are you doing out here,” Steve whisper shouted, eyes darting around.

Bucky’s grip on him tightened, and he pulled Steve down behind the buildings and toward the church. Steve’s nose was still bleeding, and his mouth and throat were full of blood. The blood was dripping down his chin and onto his shirt. But he couldn’t be bothered with that. He was worried about Bucky being seen.

The only thing hiding Bucky from sight was a hooded cloak Steve hadn’t seen before. Bucky paused and turned to Steve, his eyes raking over him before huffing and dragging him along faster. “Saving your ass from a beating.”

Steve jutted his chin. “He didn’t even keep me down.”

“You’ll be lucky if he didn’t break your nose. When are you gonna learn, huh?”

Steve let himself be guided along. “I had him on the ropes, Buck. I could have taken him.”

That drew a bark of laughter from Bucky. “Oh, did you now? From where I was standing, you were on the ground, and he was walking away with his girl.”

“I had him, Buck. He just surprised me is all.”

Bucky hummed in response. “Whatever you say, ace. Let’s get you inside, so I can get a better look at your ugly mug.”

Bucky led them inside the church, and once inside, his friend grabbed an old cloth and shoved it into Steve’s hand. “Hold that on your nose and tip your head back. Your ma’s gonna tan your hide for ruining another shirt.”

"The buttons are already missing, and there's a few holes. A little blood ain't gonna hurt it."

Bucky shrugged out of his cloak, giving Steve a chastising look. He nodded to the chairs by the card table. “Pull up a chair, punk, and let me have a look.”

Steve kept the cloth bunched against his face and walked over to the chairs, taking a seat. Bucky sat down next to Steve, cupping Steve’s hand that held the cloth and pulling it away from his face. Steve felt a tingle go through him at the gentle touch. He blinked a few times, staring at Bucky’s face as his friend studied his nose.

“It’s a good thing I like you for your personality, punk, because this nose of yours ain’t ever gonna win you a beauty contest since you keep insisting on letting guys bigger than you punch you in it.”

“Aww, shut it, Buck. It wasn’t like I was trying to get into a fight. You didn’t see how he twisted her arm.”

Calloused fingers prodded the sides of Steve's nose, making him wince. "I know. Do you think I like sounding like your ma? Believe it or not, Stevie, this isn't my idea of a good time. I don't like dragging you out of fights."

“Could’ve left me there. I know you don’t believe me, but I can take care of myself. I’m not made of glass.”

Bucky let out a breath, lining up his thumbs on either side of Steve's nose. "This is gonna hurt, but I gotta do it. Otherwise you won't be doing much breathing through it."

“Yeah, all right. Make it quick.”

Bucky gave him an apologetic look before twisting his hands and cracking Steve's nose back into place. Immediately, Steve could breathe a little better, and a fresh trickle of blood dripped down onto his lip. He mopped it up with the cloth and sniffled wetly.

“Thanks, Buck.”

"Mmhm," Bucky wiped his hands off on his pants and stood, walking to the window and looking out between the boards. He had his arms crossed, and Steve knew he was still angry about him getting into a fight. Bucky had always been protective of him, something that both set butterflies free in Steve's stomach as well as grated on his nerves. It felt good knowing that Bucky cared about him, but Steve had never liked to be treated with kid gloves because of his health and size. Maybe he hadn't been blessed with muscles and strong build, but he had a fire in his soul. Steve felt deeply and reacted in kind. His ma always thought Steve held the heart of a warrior, full of righteous anger and energy to make up for his small stature.

Steve's shoulders dropped, and he tossed the cloth on the table and got to his feet. He scrunched his nose, feeling the deep sting of fractured bone. Thinking back on the fight, he'd like to say that he could apologize for confronting the man, but he wasn't sorry for doing the right thing, even if it got him a busted nose.

“How mad are you?”

Bucky turned, arms still crossed and shoulders back. His chin lifted, and his horns caught the light, casting shadows on his face. His eyes were soft, though. They look tired, and Steve knew he was partly the cause.

“I lived on my own for a year after I escaped before I met you. I thought I would always be alone. When you came along …” He shook his head, looking up at the rafters. “You mean a lot to me, Stevie. You made me feel like I mattered again, like I wasn’t some freak. Every time you get sick or show up beat to all hell, I worry. I don’t want to lose you, punk. I just wish you’d stop risking yourself just to prove a point.” He looked at Steve, grey-blue eyes burning through his soul. “Just try and be more careful, okay? For me.”

Steve’s mouth had gone dry. He knew Bucky cared, but hearing him put it into words, sucked the breath right out of Steve’s lungs. Of course, Bucky didn’t care about him in the same way Steve did him, but it was nice to imagine for a moment. Even if he could never have Bucky like he dreamed, he’d still have his friendship, and his small request really wasn’t that much to ask. Steve would always stand up against the unjust, and he would always protect the innocent and vulnerable, but he supposed he could be more careful about his own safety when he did it.

He nodded and said, “Yeah, Buck, I can do that. I can’t promise I won’t get hurt, but I'll try harder not to end up on the ground bleeding.”

Bucky sucked in a breath. “Okay, but if you do get hurt, you make sure to tell me.”

“Deal.”


	3. Chapter 3

The summer of '36 brought intense heat and humidity, along with Steve's eighteenth birthday, during the peak of the heatwave in July.

He and his mother usually shared a special meal and a cake of some kind if they could afford to make it. This year, though, Steve didn't think they'd be celebrating. His mother's health had been failing for months. Though she never said the words, Steve knew she was dying, having contracted TB from the wards she worked.

He wasn't sure how much more time he would have with her. They had little money for her care, but she needed to be in the hospital, even if there was no cure. Steve spoke to the landlord and explained the situation. He wasn't completely destitute. He'd been working at the grocery store, stocking shelves and unloading trucks as many days as his health allowed.

Thankfully, Mr. Roberts was a kind man with a soft spot for Steve and his ma. Mr. Roberts didn’t just wave their rent; he went a step further and gave them enough money so she could afford better treatments.

Steve was grateful to Mr. Roberts, but his kindness didn’t soften the hurt of knowing he would be losing his only other family soon.

The heat made Steve's clothes cling to him. He was in the back of the shop, stripped out of his button-down, and wearing his white undershirt as he stacked the boxes where they went. Using the bottom of his shirt, he wiped the sweat from his brow and leaned back against the shelf. He had at least another two hours' work before he could go see Bucky.

He'd gone to the hospital to see his ma first thing that morning for his birthday. She'd looked thinner and gaunter than last time. It wasn't what he wished to see. He'd give anything to take her place. His ma deserved the world. She was so strong and raised him to be a good man. He just wished he could tell the truth about who he was, about the man he dreamt about, but she wouldn't understand. Even in her chair that morning, she'd told him how she hoped he'd find someone to love him as much as she did. Her confession had made Steve swallow hard against the twisting knot in his gut.

After a few more hours of shifting crates, the sun was getting low, and a light breeze stirred the air. He wanted to go straight to Bucky's, but he knew he should clean up first. He went back to his apartment and changed into some fresh clothes after wiping himself down with a damp cloth.

There wasn’t much in the cupboards to bring to Bucky’s for his birthday dinner, but he did find half a tin of spice cake Mrs. Greenlaw from next door had given him. That would do.

He had a bounce in his step as he made his way to the church. He had looked forward to seeing Bucky all day. It had been a few days since he’d been able to visit, with work and his ma getting worse.

Much to his dismay, he'd worked himself up into a sweaty, huffing mess by the time he got there. So much for changing clothes so he didn't smell like sweat. He was sure that Bucky wouldn't mind, though. Things like that never seemed to bother him. Maybe because he wasn't in a place to judge. Steve was pretty sure that outside of rainstorms, Bucky didn't have access to anything like a bath or shower. Instead, he used wet clothes to wipe himself down. Steve had seen him washing his chest before. It was a sight that he hadn't forgotten. When he was alone at night, his thoughts would drift back to the memory, and well, Steve never said he wasn't a sinner, and the list of things he should confess was growing to be longer than his arm.

With the tin of cake tucked under his arm, he opened the door and called out to Bucky. Movement caught his eye in the back, and a second later, Bucky was standing in front of him, only wearing a pair of dirty slacks. His chest glistened with sweat, and he had a broad smile on his face. His hair parted on either side of his horns that had grown so much in the last few years. The bases were thick, and the horns themselves looked heavy. It made Steve wonder if they ever made his neck hurt, then he remembered that Bucky wasn't like everyone else, or at least not like him. He had muscles on his muscles, and his neck and shoulders were thick and sculpted.

“Happy birthday, Stevie. I almost didn’t think you’d make it. It’s getting dark already. Almost came looking.”

Bucky stepped back and let Steve pass. Steve shrugged, waving the tin at him. “I brought cake. Does that make up for it?”

“From Mrs. Greenlaw?”

“Yep, more than half left.” Steve wandered over to the card table and took a seat. Bucky followed.

Steve was prying the lid of the tin when Bucky set a small, newspaper-wrapped parcel on the table in front of him. It even had a string tied around it, knotted in a loose bow.

“It’s not much,” Bucky explained, rubbing the back of his neck. “I made it—for you.”

The lid of the tin popped free, but Steve set it and the container to the side. His gaze was flitting back and forth between the gift and Bucky. In all the years they’d been friends, they’d never really given gifts. Steve never wanted to pressure Bucky into feeling like he had to find him something when it was already so hard for him to get by.

“It’s just that it’s your eighteenth, and you deserve something. I wish it was nicer, but it was—”

Steve shook his head, reaching across and catching Bucky's shaky hand. "Hey, you could get me a rock, and I'd think it was the best rock I'd ever seen, Buck."

Bucky pressed his lips together and nodded quickly as he shrugged a shoulder. “You gonna open it or what?”

Steve let go of Bucky’s hand and picked up the small package. His lips tugged into a smile as he glanced at Bucky one more time before tearing into the paper. His breath caught in his throat when he saw what was inside. Cradling it carefully in his hand, he looked at the gift. It was carved from familiar wood, Steve thought from the church pews themselves. The craftsmanship had him only able to blink in shock. Sitting in his palm was a detailed, Celtic knot on a leather cord.

“It was stupid—” Bucky started, but Steve cut him off.

“No! It’s perfect. I love it. I’ll never take it off.” Steve slipped it over his head and let the wooden pendant hang against this chest.

A small smile tugged at the corners of Bucky's mouth, and Steve swore that even in the dimly lit room, he could see a blush creeping up his neck.

“Thank you, Buck. I mean it. It’s really something. No one has made me anything like it before.”

“You’re welcome.” Bucky’s gaze broke away, and then he reached into his pocket, pulling out a book of matches and lighting the lantern on the table. The room had fallen dark, but the city was still bustling in the distance. People were on their way to the fireworks, which would be starting soon. They weren’t in a great place to see much, but they would be able to hear them and pretend.

After the cake was gone and night had truly fallen, the first boom of fireworks echoed through the air, making Bucky get to his feet, clapping a hand against Steve’s shoulder. “Come on, maybe we can catch a glimpse.”

Steve had to nearly jog out the door to keep up with Bucky. It was late, so there wasn’t much danger of them being seen in the dark. The lot behind the church was blocked in by buildings.

The weeds and grass were nearly knee-high, and they made Steve's nose tickle like he was on the edge of a sneeze, but that didn't matter, not when he had a chance to be close to Bucky.

Bucky turned in a circle looking at the high grass, then dashed back inside, shouting over his shoulder that he'd be right back. Another firework exploded in the distance, and Steve turned to the sound, the edges of the sparkling bloom were just visible over the building across the lot.

The sound of the footsteps clambering down the three steps made Steve turn. Bucky smiled wide at him, holding a ragged, patchwork quilt in his arms. He quickly stomped down some of the grass and then shook out the quilt on the ground.

He plopped down and patted the spot next to him. “Sit, I promise I won’t bite.”

The smirk on Bucky’s face did things to Steve’s stomach. Chewing his lip, he glanced in the direction of the fireworks one last time before crossing over to the blanket and sitting down beside Bucky. He was very conscious of how close he sat. There was a good foot between them, but it felt closer. Steve tried to look straight ahead to watch the sky, but he couldn’t stop himself from sneaking glances at Bucky, who was smiling and looking more relaxed than Steve had seen him in years. His eyes drifted to Bucky’s mouth, and his pouty bottom lip. Even as he smiled, it stayed plump and full.

“You’re missing the show,” Bucky’s voice startled him out of his daze, and he blinked a few times, blushing furiously. He ducked his head and looked away.

"Right, I just …" Steve shook his head, feeling caught in the open. He knew Bucky probably didn't feel the same way as he did, and why would he? Bucky might have horns, but Steve was the deviant for thinking the things he did. "It's getting late. I should go."

Steve made to get up, but before he could so much as push himself to his knee, Bucky had taken his hand, drawing him back to the blanket. Bucky's hand was warm in his like it always was. Steve wasn't sure, but he thought that Bucky burned hotter than the average person.

Steve’s heart rabbited in his chest, and he looked down at their joined hands. Bucky’s calloused thumb was sweeping back and forth against Steve’s skin, sending tingles up his arm that went straight to his gut.

“Stay,” Bucky said softly, and Steve looked up to meet his gaze. “Please.”

Steve’s mouth was suddenly too dry to form words, but he managed to nod, settling back in his spot. The breeze did nothing to cool Steve’s skin. The heat he was feeling went deep. It wasn’t the summer air he was feeling. He just hoped he wasn’t reading it wrong. It seemed like maybe, just maybe, Bucky felt something for him, too. Or perhaps it was wishful thinking.

But Bucky didn’t let go of his hand. Instead, he laced his fingers with Steve’s and let their hands rest on his leg. “I think the finale is starting.”

With one last glance at Bucky’s smiling face, Steve turned his eyes to the sky and let his heart hope.

* * *

The second week of October passed, and his mother was no longer with him. Steve was only eighteen, and the one person he had come to count on was gone. Tuberculosis claimed her life, despite how much the doctors tried to save her.

He'd used the little money she'd set aside to have her buried in the catholic cemetery down the way. A small stone marked the plot to the right of his father. It wasn't much, but it was all he could afford.

In the week after her death, Steve didn’t visit Bucky because he wasn’t ready to say the words, to accept that his ma was truly gone. Telling Bucky made it feel too real, and right now, Steve just wanted to hide. Call him a coward, but he wasn’t ready to face her death, so instead, he got angry and raided the cabinet above the sink, finding the bottle of whiskey his mother had hidden there in better times.

He shouldn't have turned to a bottle to solve his problem, but the cheap whiskey burned away the ache in his throat, numbing the edges of the nightmare he was living in. What would he do now? He wondered how far Mr. Roberts' kindness would stretch now that his ma was gone. Would he be able to keep the apartment? The job at the store paid enough to cover the basics, and on Tuesdays, he got to bring home some of the goods that were going by, but it was still going to be hard coming home to an empty place.

The bottle didn’t last long, and soon it was dark. Steve’s head swam as he stumbled out the door, looking for something to fill the hole in his chest. Whether the pain of a fight or more alcohol, Steve didn’t care. He just wanted to forget. Thoughts of Bucky lingered in his mind, but he couldn’t go to him, not like this.

Anger burned in his chest. His saint of a mother had been taken away too early. It wasn’t fair, not after everything she’d done for those around her, not after everything she’d done for him, working double shifts to make sure they had a roof over their head and food on the table, even if it wasn’t always more than potatoes and hotdogs. If there was one thing his mother always kept on the table, it was potatoes. They’d been the staple to get them through, a remnant of her Irish roots.

The night air was felt sharp against Steve's skin, and his breath disappeared in a cloud of vapors. It was getting cold, and the change in the air stung Steve's lungs and made his throat tighten. He cleared his throat and tugged his ragged jacket tighter around himself. He gripped the railing to keep himself standing and then stumbled down the stairs.

Steve tried to get a drink at the nearby bar, but they wouldn't serve him. Instead, they mocked his size, and called him a dame, told him to come back when he could grow a beard. It set him off, and he took a drunken swing at the bartender, getting him hauled out by his arms and thrown into the street. The men laughed as Steve struggled to his feet, backside soaked through by a puddle.

“I ain’t done with you yet!” Steve shouted, wobbling on his feet. He balled his fists, feeling the wet grit from the street still on his palms.

“Simmer down, kid. Go home and sleep it off. You don’t want anything of this,” one the men said, gesturing to his friends.

Steve wasn't sure why, but he felt tears pricking his eyes, and it made him his anger boil over. He sniffed hard and then spat on the ground, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. "Screw you! Screw all of you!"

The man who had spoken before just shook his head and then waved his friends to the door. “Let’s go guys. He’s not worth it.”

Steve's shoulders began to shake, but he didn't know if it was his cold, wet clothes, or his emotions overwhelming him. He tightened his fists and then made to stumble after them but was stopped when a hand gripped his shoulder, spinning him around.

Steve didn’t need to guess who it was. He’d recognize the hooded figure anywhere.

“Jesus, Steve, what the hell are you thinking?”

Steve tried to shake off Bucky’s hand but only managed to trip over his own feet and nearly hit the ground. Bucky grabbed him around the waist, though, and stopped his fall, pulling him tight to his side and steering him toward the side street.

Steve wriggled under Bucky's firm grip again, and Bucky only responded by tightening his hold until Steve thought there might be bruises. "I'm fine. I don't need help."

Bucky's head snapped to Steve, and his steps faltered for a moment, then he turned them down an alley. They weren't heading to the church. In another block, they'd be nearly at Steve's apartment. This was the farthest he'd seen Bucky from his home. Thankfully, the cold air kept most people inside, so there was no one to see them.

“You’re far from fine, ace. I was fucking worried, you know? I haven’t seen you in weeks. I thought you were dead. I even went by your apartment. Did you know that? But no one was home.”

“You know where I live?”

Bucky shook his head. “That’s the part you got stuck on? That I know where you live. Of course, I know. I followed you home the first week we met. Saw your ma, she was real pretty. Wearing a blue dress. Her hair tied up nice.”

Steve’s heart clamped down and wouldn’t release. It felt like it was threatening to explode. He suddenly didn’t want to follow Bucky anymore. He didn’t want to go home. That’s why he was out at the bar so he could forget for a few hours, feel something other than the hollow nothing that gnawed at his insides. He yanked himself to the right and broke Bucky’s hold on him, hand going to the light pole to steady himself. 

“Hey,” Bucky said, spinning to grip him. “Home’s this way, bud. I’m dropping your sorry ass on the doorstep and letting your ma deal with you. Lord knows you deserve whatever she deals out for going off halfcocked, looking for a fight.”

“I can’t—I don’t want to go home. If I go home, she won’t be there. She won’t be there, and she’s supposed to be. She’s not supposed to be gone yet.” Steve was shaking again, hands balled into fists. He turned to Bucky and grabbed his cloak. “Why did she have to go? It could have been anyone. Why her?”

Bucky grabbed his shoulders and turned Steve to face him. His hood had fallen back a little, and the curve of his horns was visible. He looked otherworldly standing there under the streetlight. "Christ, Steve, why didn't you say something?"

“I didn’t know what to say.”

Bucky sighed and then yanked him to his chest, wrapping him in his arms. Steve shivered when he felt Bucky’s warm breath brush against his hair, his lips pressed to his temple. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

The rest of the walk was quiet, but Steve’s mind wasn’t. Even with the alcohol dulling the ache, his thoughts were on his mother and how much his life was about to change. Though really, she had been gone a while, living in the hospital, but at least there, Steve could visit. Now he was truly alone, but maybe not completely. He couldn’t forget the man beside him. Bucky had become a fixture in Steve’s life, even filling his dreams. Guiltily, he thought that now that his mother was no longer around to disappoint, maybe he could embrace his feelings for Bucky a bit.

He and Bucky hadn't ever talked about the night they shared at the fireworks on his birthday, the way Bucky held his hand was never brought up again, and it left Steve wondering if it didn't mean what he first thought. Maybe it had simply been two friends sharing a moment under the night sky. Even to Steve, though, it didn't sound right. There was more to Bucky's touch. Steve was sure of it. He just hadn't been brave enough to make another move. Bucky probably thought he wasn't interested now. Knowing Steve's luck, he'd probably blown his only chance.

When they got to Steve's building, Bucky guided him up the stairs and supported him as Steve rooted around in his pocket for the keys. Pulling them out with a triumphant noise, Steve jingled the keys and then, swaying a little, unlocked the door. He nearly faceplanted when the door swung open, balancing too much of his weight on the knob. Bucky caught him around the waist and helped him walk over to the sitting area where there were a few chairs and a couch.

Steve tossed the keys on the side table and called back to Bucky to make sure to lock the door behind them, promptly collapsing on the couch, his limbs akimbo. A moment later, the light in the room flicked on, and Steve blinked up to see Bucky shucking out of his cloak. His friend was looking around the small apartment like he was taking in all the small details.

Steve realized that this was probably the first time in years that Bucky had been in anything that resembled a real home. Before, he couldn’t imagine what it must be like for Bucky to be alone, the last of his family, but now Steve knew too well. At least he was nearly an adult when he lost his mother, though. Bucky had just been a child, a child escaping horrors that he knew Bucky carried with him still. The shadows never left Bucky’s eyes, no matter how happy he was. Something dark always remained. It was something Steve wished he could wipe away, remove and replace with something better. He didn’t like seeing Bucky in pain.

The whiskey was wearing off a little, but the room still tilted when he turned his head too quickly. He had probably drunk too much for his size. He knew that. He was always a lightweight. He should know. He and Bucky had sneaked a bottle or two into the old church a few times and drank their fill. It never ended well for Steve. He always woke up puking with Bucky beside him, laughing fondly, bright and chipper and unaffected. Apparently, whatever Bucky was, it meant he couldn't get hangovers.

“Move your feet,” Bucky said, nudging Steve’s knee with his own.

Steve complied with a groan, sliding them to the floor and sitting up a little, though he was still leaning toward the arm of the couch. His hair flopped into his eyes, and Steve tried to blow it out of the way, failing and then lazily sweeping his fingers through it. “You sticking around?”

Bucky stretched, putting an arm over the back of the couch. His gaze raked over Steve, making him feel exposed. “You need me to?”

Steve looked over at the radio on the shelf and then down to his hands that were clasped in his lap. He shrugged a shoulder, though the truth was more straightforward. He didn't want Bucky to leave, but he wasn't sure how to tell him to stay. The words always seemed to get mixed up when Steve tried to give them life. He glanced over at Bucky and saw him watching, waiting, and Steve's walls were weak because of the whiskey, so he found himself saying, "It's better when you're close," before he even chose the words.

That brought a small smile to Bucky’s face, and he nodded before pushing himself up and going to the kitchen.

“Where you going? I just told you, it’s better with you here.”

“Don’t get your britches in a bunch. I’m just getting you some water. As cute as you are when you’re hungover, I don’t like seeing you sick. You need some food, too. I bet you didn’t even eat before finishing your bottle.”

“How’d you know I finished it?”

“It’s on the table.”

Steve frowned and leaned back into the cushions more. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense, and I always get hangovers. Water isn’t gonna change that.”

“Humor me, Stevie.”

The sounds of the cabinets opening and shutting drifted through the room, and then Steve heard the faucet. A minute later, he heard footsteps before Bucky reappeared with a glass of water and a few slices of bread with jam.

“You’ll thank me in the morning,” Bucky said, passing Steve the water first.

Steve gulped down the water and then passed it back to Bucky. “Happy?” he said and then hiccupped. His hand went to his stomach. “Maybe I shouldn’t have drank that so fast.”

“You think, dummy?” Bucky held the bread out Steve. “Take it. I’m gonna go try to find you some warm clothes. You’ll be lucky if you didn’t catch your death out there in damp clothes.”

Steve nabbed the bread and took a nibble; his stomach was still feeling a little off. “Clothes are in the dresser. Room’s right there.” He nodded his chin toward it.

The jam was sweet, leaving his fingers sticky. He popped his thumb into his mouth to lick off a glob, sucking the digit between his lips. With his belly full, and the rest of him feeling nice and floaty, he could drift right off to sleep, but he knew that he still needed to change, and he wanted to visit with Bucky some more, too. His thoughts had been on the man since it really registered with him that Bucky was in his home. He was close and taking care of him, just like always. And that made the pain of losing his mother a little less. He wasn’t alone. He had Bucky.

Steve noticed another smear of jam on his palm, and he licked a warm strip over the mess. He wasn't surprised at getting jam everywhere. He was never the neatest person after a few drinks, and he'd had more than his share tonight.

A throaty noise caught Steve's attention and made him look up, dropping his hand. Bucky was standing in the doorway, holding a bundle of clothes, eyes wide and little dark. His gaze darted between Steve's hand and his mouth before locking onto his lips. Bucky's throat bobbed as he swallowed.

Steve was sure he was imagining it, but Bucky's expression looked strained by lust, and it went straight to Steve’s gut, mixing with his own wants and desires. For just that night, Steve didn’t give credence to the voice that niggled in the back of his mind, telling him that it was wrong. This was Bucky, and as far as Steve could see it, nothing that came from them being together could be a sin. And even if it was, even if what he’d been taught was true, he’d take hell any day if it meant a night with Bucky. It was an even trade.

Bucky seemed to recover himself, his expression doing something complicated and unreadable, before walking over and passing the clothes to Steve. “You should change before you get sick.”

Steve licked his lips, looking up at Bucky through his lashes. He didn't know much about seduction, but he was a quick learner, and he knew he'd hit a nerve when Bucky cleared his throat and swallowed again. He wanted to taste his lips, see how soft they were. With everything that hurt right now, he just wanted to feel good for a minute. The liquid courage was still coursing through his veins, so he didn't fear the consequences of his desires.

The next few movements happened fast. Bucky was turning to step away, and that sent a bolt of panic through Steve. He needed to touch him now. He couldn’t let him get away, not when he was finally sure of what he wanted. Throwing the bundle of clothes onto the cushion beside him, he pushed himself to his feet, feeling the room tip just a little.

Steeling himself, he reached out and wrapped his slender fingers around Bucky’s wrist, tugging him back. Bucky stopped and turned back to face Steve, his brow furrowing.

“Stevie?”

Swallowing a few times dryly, Steve reached up with his other hand and grabbed onto Bucky's shirt, pulling him down, while stretching up and pressing his lips to Bucky's. Bucky froze, not moving and not breathing, just standing there, eyes wide. Steve whimpered and nipped at Bucky's bottom lip, his heart sinking the longer the time stretched between them, the longer Bucky went without moving.

The courage he was feeling earlier started to turn to panic, and he squeezed his eyes shut, dropping back from where he'd been stretched on his toes. He didn't let go of Bucky's shirt or wrist, though, but he did hang his head, feeling regret wash over him. What had he done?

Tears were starting to prick at his eyes, and he clenched his teeth and swallowed against the painful lump rising in his throat. He wouldn’t cry about this. He wasn’t some delicate dame.

Just when he wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole, a warm, calloused finger caught him under the chin and nudged his head up.

“Look at me, Stevie. Let me see those baby blues.”

Steve didn’t want to cooperate, he wanted to hide, but he found himself lifting his head anyway, teary eyes meeting Bucky’s blue-gray ones. He didn’t see the revulsion he expected, though. He saw something else, something warm and soft and unexpected, something like lust.

“I shouldn’t have—I'm sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.” The words tumbled out before Steve could stop them. “Can we forget it—pretend it never happened?”

“Maybe I don’t want to forget.”

“But you didn’t—you didn’t kiss me back. You just …" he finished with a shrug.

Bucky turned his hand and cupped Steve’s neck, his thumb rubbing back and forth over the sharp line of Steve’s jaw. “I was surprised, and I guess I just wasn’t ready,” he sighed, “and you’re drunk, Steve. I don’t want our first kiss to be one you don’t remember.”

He felt a shock pass through him as he absorbed Bucky’s words and their meaning. Bucky had wanted Steve to kiss him, too. It seemed too good to be true, like it was a dream, everything he had never dared to ask for before. And then he felt a wave of annoyance and frustration crash over him. He’d finally admitted how he felt, made his first move, and now Bucky wouldn’t kiss him back because he was drunk. Didn’t that just figure.

“I’m not that drunk,” Steve argued, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin in defiance. “I know what I’m doing. I can make decisions just fine. You don’t get to tell me what to do, Buck. If I want to kiss you, then I want to kiss you.”

Bucky shook his head, rolling his eyes. “I’m sure you can, ace, but I can make decisions, too, and I don’t want our first kiss to be while you’re drunk.”

Steve narrowed his eyes and then lost his balance even though he was standing still and stumbled to the side.

“Proving my point, Stevie. Now go get dressed and get into bed. We can talk about all this later if you still remember in the morning.”

“I’m gonna remember,” Steve said defiantly. “You just wait and see, Buck. I’ll be kissing you before you even get out of bed.”

Bucky’s brow went up, and he nodded, reaching around Steve and grabbing the clothes and shoving them into his arms. “That sounds real nice, but maybe just go to bed first and stop talking for the night. You might regret some of this come tomorrow.”

“Won’t regret a thing.”

"Sure, you won't."


	4. Chapter 4

Steve groaned as he awoke, squinting against the sunlight filtering through the curtains. He dragged a hand over his face and rolled onto his back, feeling his body protest. He had to peel his tongue off the roof of his mouth. It felt drier than the desert. Blinking blearily, he turned to look at the time. The clock on his nightstand read just before noon. How did he let himself sleep so late? And what did he drink the night before that left such an awful taste in his mouth?

His stomach rolled a little when he sat up, brain still sorting through the bigger details of what he'd done last night. He remembered missing his ma; that cavernous hole from her loss was never far from his reach. It ached in him. Then there was the bottle of whiskey. Things got a little blurrier after that.

He swung his feet over the side of the bed and looked down at himself. He was wearing pajama bottoms and an undershirt. He nodded to himself, feeling impressed that he managed to put himself to bed like an adult, even if he was three sheets to the wind.

Something wasn’t adding up, though. It felt like he was forgetting some important detail, but he had no idea what. He stumbled into the bathroom and leaned a hand against the wall, taking a piss and feeling immediately better, though his mouth still tasted like a dead animal, like something an alley cat caught and left in the sun to bake for a few days until it was bloated and sour. His own thoughts made his stomach rebel, and he had to swallow back the rising bile. He really shouldn’t have been drinking. His ma would have had his hide.

After washing up and brushing his teeth, he stumbled into the living room, and then the smell hit him. It smelled like someone was frying potatoes, and for a brief, fleeting moment, he thought of his mother, but then he looked up, and his memories came crashing back into him at full force.

Standing shirtless at the stove, with his back to Steve, was Bucky. His muscles rippled as he pushed something around a pan and hummed to himself. Apparently sensing Steve behind him, he glanced over his shoulder and quirked a brow.

“I’m betting you aren’t feeling much better than you look,” Bucky said. “You even remember last night?”

Steve felt his face blushing. Oh, he remembered. How could he forget? But right now, the only thing he wanted to do was hide and pretend it had never happened. He was sure he had been misreading it or remembering wrong. Bucky couldn’t have wanted him like that, too, could he? He shook his head and glanced back at Bucky, who’d turned back to whatever it was he was cooking.

If he was a coward, he might retreat to his room and hide, but if there was one thing he was not, it was afraid to face down what scared him, and right now, Bucky and all the confusing emotions that went with him, scared the shit out of him. Drunk Steve clearly didn’t have much sympathy for what he was leaving sober Steve to deal with. He always was a little shit.

Taking a breath to steady himself, he walked across the cold, wooden floor to the table and took a seat. There was a half-full cup of coffee beside yesterday's paper, and Steve realized that Bucky must have been up for a while, waiting on him. The food smelled good, though, whatever it was. It wasn't like there was much to choose from. Steve was impressed, though. He didn't think Bucky could cook. Of course, he fed himself, but it wasn't like he had a stove. Maybe he learned before he and his family were taken. That thought settled sourly in his gut. He didn't like thinking of what Bucky had been through, and he only knew a little bit of it.

Bucky grabbed one of the two plates on the counter and dished out what looked like potatoes and eggs. Steve’s stomach grumbled and squirmed in his gut, seemingly unsure whether to be hungry or repulsed by the idea of eating. It wasn’t the quality of the food. It was just the awful hangover he was nursing. At least Bucky hadn’t tried feeding him his raw egg cure. Steve tried it once and puked for an hour. It did cure his hangover after that, though.

Steve sniffed the potatoes and eggs, and his stomach rumbled. Hunger it was, then. Bucky finished plating up his food and then sat across from Steve.

“Oh, there’s coffee if you want it. It should still be warm,” Bucky said, motioning to the pot with his fork.

“I’m not sure I’m ready for coffee yet. Let me eat some potatoes first.”

Bucky nodded and then tucked into his food. His hair hung around the horns, horns that had really grown over the years. Steve liked them, though. Most people would probably find them weird, but Steve never had, not from the first time they met, not really. He remembered being curious, but he wasn't scared or disgusted. The horns were just part of who Bucky was. They suited him.

Bucky glanced up with a smirk, knowing he’d caught Steve staring. That fact made Steve blush again for the second time that morning.

“Like what you see?”

Steve stabbed a potato with his fork and jammed it in his mouth, feeling completely off balance by the recent turn in events. Chewing, he pushed his chair back and went to the cupboard. “I think I’ll have that coffee now.”

He heard Bucky sigh from the table, but he busied himself pouring his cup. His chest was a little tight anyway, so the coffee might help open things up.

“So, I take it that you do remember last night?”

Steve turned and went back to his chair. He briefly flitted his gaze to meet Bucky’s before chickening out and looking down at his cup. “Is it a problem if I did? You want me to forget about it? Because I don’t want things to be weird, Buck. I just—I get it if you’d rather pretend it never happened.”

“If you remember last night, then you remember me telling you I didn’t want that.” Bucky paused to rub the base of his right horn. His hand dropped back to the table. “Sometimes you can be awful stupid for being so smart. I wanted to kiss you, Stevie. I’ve wanted it for a long time, probably longer than I should have.”

Steve frowned. “Then why couldn’t you just let me kiss you like I wanted, you big mook?”

“I told you, Stevie. I didn’t want our first kiss to be like that, like I’m taking advantage. I want it to be special, or at least when your breath doesn’t smell like whiskey.”

“Oh, okay. I guess that’s okay, then. So, how do we—when can we …" Steve waved between them, making Bucky laugh.

“We’ll figure it out. Don’t overthink it. It’ll happen if it’s going to happen, and, Steve, it’s going to happen.” Bucky winked, making the tips of Steve’s ears turn pink. “Not to change the subject, but what are your plans now? Can you afford to stay here? Do you even want to?”

Steve was grateful for the change of subject. “I think I’ll stay. Mr. Roberts offered to keep the rent at half of what it was. I think he made a deal with my ma to look out for me. He’s a good guy.” He took another bite of food, chewing thoughtfully. “It’ll be hard staying because I see my ma everywhere, but I don’t mind that either. I spent most of my life here. I don’t want to forget.”

Bucky speared a potato and pointed the fork at Steve. “You could get a roommate to help with the bills this winter. You have the extra room.”

Steve shrugged. “I don’t want some stranger hanging around, but …" His brows came together, and he stared at Bucky.

“What?”

“You could move in. You don’t need to pay rent, but you could stay here, help around the house. It would be better than the church.”

Bucky shook his head, setting down his fork and leaning back in his chair. “I couldn’t.”

“Why not? It would be great. Come on, don’t tell me you would pass up the chance to mother hen me every day.”

“You’d drive me to an early grave.”

Steve took a bite of eggs, waving his fork at Bucky. “You know this makes sense. Please, Buck, for me?”

Bucky sighed and then rubbed between his horns. His eyes met Steve’s, his expression resigned. “Fine, I’ll stay, but we’ll need to get my stuff from the church.”

Steve grinned. “Thanks, Buck.”

* * *

Over the next few days, Steve and Bucky fell into a routine. Steve would wake up first, finding Bucky on the couch snoring in the early morning light. Steve fixed breakfast with what they had and left a plate out for Bucky on the table for when he finally rolled off the couch. Steve wasn’t sure how late he actually slept, but Bucky was always up and the food gone when he came home for lunch.

As the days passed, Steve’s mind became consumed by their almost kiss and the invitation for more. He could understand Bucky wanting their first real kiss to be something more special than Steve plastering his drunken self on Bucky. Steve wanted that, too, but he was nervous about how to go about it. Did he just walk in the room and muckle onto Bucky with all his strength, or should he try to seduce him like some dame from a romance novel?

Steve didn’t know what to do, but the indecision was killing him. He had to figure things out fast because his dreams of Bucky had increased tenfold in both frequency and filth. He wanted to try all the things he’d read about in those little books he got from the shady guy down on the corner.

Steve fingered the pendant that hung around his neck, thinking of Bucky. It wasn't like Bucky wasn't interested. It was clear he was. Steve just needed to find the courage and take charge. This wasn't any different than anything else he'd ever feared. He would persevere through sheer will power alone and plant one right on Bucky's lips as soon as he got home.

With that decided, Steve finished arranging the cans on the shelves and let his mind wander back to the hazy memory of his failed kiss. Even though he had been drunk, he could still remember how Bucky's lips had been a little dry and rough, his stubble scratching on Steve's chin. And his smell. Up close, it had been undiluted and intense, almost woodsy. It had become something Steve associated with Bucky.

Steve finished work and walked home, the cold November air biting at his cheeks and nose. It made his lungs burn and stole his breath. He’d forgotten to wear his scarf that morning, mind too busy with thoughts of Bucky.

Unlocking the apartment door, Steve stepped inside and shivered at the change in temperature. It made his lungs seize up immediately, and he had to focus on making his chest move. Sniffling, he hung up his coat and walked over to the stove where Bucky stirred a pot of something that looked like soup.

Bucky glanced over his shoulder and raked his gaze over Steve. He was freshly shaven, and his hair that fell to his shoulders was tied back with a piece of string, making his horns look even more prominent and on display.

“Jesus, Stevie, your lips are blue. Didn’t you think to dress for the weather?” Bucky abandoned his soup, or at least Steve was pretty sure that’s what it was, and pressed the back of his hand to Steve’s cheek and then his forehead. “You’ll be lucky if you didn’t catch your death. Good thing I’m making soup. It should warm you right up.”

Steve brushed his concern off, going over to breathe in some of the steam coming off the pot. His chest was still aching from the cold, and he hoped the warmth would ease the tight bands constricting it. "It's fine, Buck. I just forgot my scarf, and it's got colder than I expected once the sun went down."

His chest relaxed a little, but that also meant he was wheezing more loudly, and Bucky seemed to hear it, his brow crinkling in concern.

“You know I hate watching you like this.”

“It’ll pass, always does. I still have some asthma cigarettes in the drawer if I need them.”

Bucky frowned. “Yeah, all right. Why don’t you go sit and warm up while I dish out the soup?”

“What kind is it?”

“Cabbage and potato.”

Steve’s nose crinkled. “I’ve eaten enough of that to last a lifetime.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “When we’re rich, you can eat anything you’d like, but for now, go sit. I got a bowl of cabbage and potatoes with your name on it.”

Steve wrapped up in the throw that Bucky had been using on the couch and then returned to the table to sit. Bucky placed bowls in front of each of them and took a seat across from Steve.

No one spoke as they ate, but it wasn't too bad, not better or worse than his ma's soup had been, just different. Partway through the meal, Steve felt something nudge his foot, and he peeked under the table to see Bucky's sock-clad toes rubbing against his ankle. He looked back up at Bucky and saw a glint of something mischievous in his eye, and maybe he saw something else too, something needy and wanting, like Steve was a cold glass of water in an unforgiving desert. It made Steve fidget with his spoon, feeling the warmth of a blush spreading over him.

Bucky sat with his elbows on the table, spoon hanging loosely from his fingers, a smirk on his face as his foot started sliding higher up Steve's leg. For all the dirty things Steve had read, he found himself overwhelmed when in the moment, even with something so small. That wouldn't do.

Meeting Bucky's gaze, Steve lifted his own foot and started a clumsy slide up Bucky's leg, but his legs weren't as long as Bucky's, so he couldn't quite reach as far as he'd like. It did the trick, though. Steve watched as Bucky's throat bobbed, and his lips parted just slightly.

Yeah, he really needed to get Operation Kiss Bucky underway.

* * *

The radio was playing softly in the background, and Steve was sitting by the window, half curled in his mother's old chair as he sketched Bucky, who was whittling a design into one of the wooden spoon handles.

It had been weeks since the last time they’d had real contact, and Steve was itching to rectify that. Operation Kiss Bucky had stalled miserably, but that didn’t mean Bucky hadn’t been ramping things up between them. Any chance he got, it seemed he was licking his lips and looking through his lashes at Steve. It was incredibly frustrating. Honestly, Steve didn’t know what he was waiting for. Kissing someone shouldn’t be so hard. It was simple. All he had to do was muckle ahold of him and plant one on him. He was sure they’d figure out things from there.

It just wasn’t that easy because Steve couldn’t convince his brain to stop overthinking. It turned a simple thing into a hundred step plan that overwhelmed him and left him scared to start.

Little pieces of wood fell onto the floor between Bucky’s knees, and Steve made a note to make sure that Bucky cleaned up his mess. His ma would never approve of him living like he was in a barn. It wasn’t completely Bucky’s fault, he’d lived in that filthy church most of his life, so it wasn’t like he was used to being tidy.

A song came on the radio, and Steve perked up. He was never much of a dancer, but this song always made him want to move. His mother had tried to teach him to dance many times, but he was always stumbling over his feet, though he knew the box step well enough not to trip.

He began humming along to the music. Bouncing his foot and tapping the end of his pencil on his sketchbook. Bucky paused his whittling and blinked at him a few times before the faintest of smiles touched his lips. "You like this song."

Steve stopped bouncing to the beat and shrugged. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

Bucky licked his lips and then chewed his lip for a moment, looking at the radio and furrowing his brow. He glanced back at Steve and tilted his head a little. "Do you—do you wanna dance?"

Steve’s weak heart stuttered in his chest, skipping beats and knocking the breath from his lungs. His mouth went a little dry as he tried to summon up the courage to say yes.

Brushing his bangs out of his eyes, he nodded vigorously. “Yeah, yeah, I’d love—I mean, I’d like that.”

Bucky set the spoon and knife down on the table and walked over to Steve, extending a hand. “I ain’t got a clue what I’m doing, so you’ll have to lead.”

Steve took his hand, feeling a jolt pass through him at the contact. Bucky’s hand was dry and calloused in his own. “Don’t set your hopes too high. I can barely stay out of my own way.”

Bucky chuckled and tugged Steve up, causing him to bump into him. They stood there for a moment with the music playing, chests touching and breathing each other’s air, then Steve swallowed down his nerves and gripped Bucky’s hip, adjusting their other hands to be joined beside their bodies.

The song that had spurred them along to this moment ended and another one took over the air.

“Follow my lead, step after me.”

They moved in hesitating and jerky steps, making a slow turn in the space between the chair and radio. Bucky’s gaze flicked between their feet and Steve’s eyes, his face lined with concentration.

“You’re doing great, Buck.”

Bucky glanced up at him and smiled. “Only ‘cause I got a good teacher.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. A good teacher doesn’t trip over their student.”

Bucky shrugged as he relaxed a bit. “I like this. It’s—”

Just then, Steve stepped on his own laces and lurched to the left, but Bucky moved fast and caught him around the waist, hugging him tight to his body. Steve leaned back like he was in a partial dip, looking up at Bucky. His mouth fell open as he took in Bucky from this angle. The way his horns framed his face should have been frightening, but it sent a thrill through Steve.

They stared at each other for a minute until Bucky came back to his senses and lifted Steve back to his feet. This was his chance, and he knew it. It was perfect. Sliding his left hand up Bucky's arm, he gripped his shoulder and lifted himself up just an inch on his toes, closing the distance between them.

A hundred emotions flitted over Bucky's face but settled on desire and determination. He didn't give Steve time to change his mind, thankfully. He moved, too, wrapping an arm around Steve's waist and pulling him flush to his front. Their noses bumped, making both of them laugh, but then they sobered as they gazed into each other's eyes.

Time seemed to stop, the music faded into the background, and then their lips were touching, softly, faintly, and barely-there at first. Then Bucky's tongue touched Steve's bottom lip, and he chased the sensation, stretching up higher and slotting his mouth against Bucky's.

Neither of them seemed too sure of what they were doing, but that made it all the more perfect. Then Bucky let out what could only be called a whimper as Steve caressed his tongue with his own, pausing to suck lightly on it.

Their mouths parted, and they panted, foreheads touching. Steve's fingers clutched Bucky's shirt, and Bucky's hand gripped the nape of Steve's neck. They slowly caught their breath. It had been sloppy and awkward, but it was more than anything Steve could have wanted.

Operation Kiss Bucky was a success.

* * *

“Buck, it’s been over a month. You can’t sleep on the couch forever.”

Bucky shook out the raggedy quilt, laying it over the back of the couch. He was half-dressed again, a common sight lately. He was wearing trousers with the suspenders hanging off his hips. No shirt because Steve was pretty sure Bucky was, in fact, part demon and trying to tempt him with everything he had. So far, Steve was impressed by his own restraint, but it was crumbling. Hence Steve wanting Bucky to share the bed. It was partly for Bucky's comfort, but Steve couldn't lie and say he didn't want to be closer to the other man. Besides, it was the dead of winter, and they both could do with sharing some body heat. That made perfect sense, or so Steve told himself.

Bucky turned his attention to Steve as he sat on the couch. “Why’s it such a big deal, punk? It’s almost like you just want an excuse to get your hands all over me.”

Hearing it put like that made Steve blush, but he tried to scowl anyway, even though it wasn't that effective from the chuckle it drew from Bucky. Bucky had taken to calling him kitten over the past few weeks since their kiss, telling Steve that he reminded him of an angry alley cat.

"So what if I do? It's getting cold, and you know it."

It was Bucky’s turn to blush a little and shake his head. “I guess the heater ain’t working worth a shit anyway. You’ll end up catching your death sooner or later. Yeah, all right, but you better keep those bony elbows to yourself.”

That night when they went to bed, they both stood around awkwardly, shifting their weight between their feet, looking from the bed to each other. Steve was dressed in his boxers and undershirt, and of course, Bucky was dressed only in cotton sleep pants, his sculpted chest and wide shoulders on display. The sight made Steve's mouth go a little dry.

Nodding to the bed, Steve cleared his throat. “I usually sleep on the right. If that’s alright?”

Bucky shrugged. “It’s your bed, but you sure we’ll both fit?”

Steve glanced at the bed and then back to Bucky. He was already imagining how tight a fit it would be. They were going to have to be pressed close to share the bed. "We'll make it work."

Once they were settled in bed, Steve turned off the light, and they laid in the dark, their shared breathing the only sound.

Eventually, Steve felt Bucky shift next to him, and then his larger hand was taking Steve's smaller one in his own. They laced their fingers together, and Steve gave his hand a squeeze before turning onto his side, so he was facing Bucky, who was on his back, laying half under the blanket.

Steve propped himself up on an elbow and gazed at the shadowed lines of Bucky’s face. There was little light in the room, only the faint glow from the nearly full moon outside cutting through the window. Bucky’s head turned to Steve, but Steve couldn’t make out his expression. He imagined it was soft, though. Bucky always got this warm, soft look about him when he gazed at Steve.

Feeling brave, Steve shimmied closer to him and then untangled their fingers, so he could bring a hand up to Bucky’s face. He touched his cheek first, feeling the stubble, then nudged his head to turn a little more toward him. Stretching over him, Steve pressed his lips to Bucky’s, letting his tongue trace over the seam, asking permission. It was granted, and then Bucky’s hand cupped Steve’s head, holding him close as he took charge of the kiss, rolling them, so Bucky was over Steve.

"You got me where you want me, now what?" Bucky said, a little breathless as he looked down at Steve.

Steve reached up and grabbed one of his horns, tugging him down. Looking back, he realized that it was a bold move, but thankfully, Bucky didn’t seem to mind. Bucky plundered his mouth, their mouths working together, noses bumping. Where the kiss lacked grace, it made up for it in primal desire.

The kiss dragged on, Bucky’s body pressing him into the mattress. Heat radiated off him. Bucky always did run hot, something to do with what he was. It made Steve’s mind take a turn for the gutter. He wanted to know what it felt like to feel that heat inside him, let it consume him from the inside out.

Steve's lungs began to burn unpleasantly, and he had to push against Bucky's shoulder and turn his head to break the kiss, gasping for breath. As soon as the oxygen hit his lungs, he felt better, and he turned to meet Bucky's gaze.

“You okay?”

Still heaving breaths, Steve replied, “Yeah, just need to remember to breathe.”

Bucky chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to Steve's forehead before rolling off him and flopping back on the bed. When Steve twisted around onto his side, he noticed just how affected Bucky was by their impromptu make-out session. His thin, cotton pants were tented, and there was a light sheen of sweat on his chest. Steve felt a little proud of himself. Despite all his problems and ailments, Bucky still wanted him in every way, and that, that was something pretty special.

“You’re wheezing a little. You need your cigarettes?”

“Nah, just gotta catch my breath. Sorry for bringing the mood down.”

Bucky shrugged. “It’s alright. We have plenty of time to get friendly again later. I’d rather make sure we take our time, so you don’t keel over in the middle of it.”

Steve couldn't get Bucky's obvious arousal out of his mind. He wasn't sure what he wanted to do about it, but he wanted to do something. He wasn't completely naïve. It wasn't like he didn't have the same equipment, he could figure it out, but he didn't want to spook Bucky by moving too fast. Then again, what did it matter how fast they went. It wasn't like there was anyone to judge, and they were already living in sin.

Bucky's breaths beside him calmed his nerves, and biting his lip, he flexed his hand in and out of a fist before sliding it open-palmed across Bucky's stomach, sliding over his abs and coming to rest just over his belly button. The hair was soft there, and a dark line of it led downward toward the waistband of Bucky's sleep pants.

Steve chanced a look at Bucky and saw that he was watching wide-eyed, lips parted just slightly. Bucky's tongue darted out and swiped over his lips, and Steve took that as an invitation to move his hand a little lower. His fingers nudged his sleep pants and started wiggling under the waistband, then Bucky hand shot out and wrapped around Steve's wrist, holding Steve there. It made him glance up at Bucky with a question in his eyes. Had he gone too far? Did Bucky not want what he did? Panic started to bubble up in Steve as he looked at Bucky, who was breathing through his mouth and staring glassy-eyed at Steve.

“You—you don’t have,” Bucky said breathlessly.

“What?”

Bucky looked away into the darkness. When he looked back at Steve, he was frowning. “If we—I can’t go back to how things were if we cross this bridge. The kissing—it’s amazing—but it isn’t this. If we do more, I’m not sure I’ll be able to live without you, but I guess that doesn’t change anything, does it?”

“What are you saying, Buck?”

“You’re it for me, Steve. Whether we do more or not. 'Til the end of the line. You’re it for me.”

Steve felt his heart swell, and he swallowed against the tide of emotion clogging his throat. He nodded once. “'Til the end of the line.”

It wasn't an I love you, but maybe for them, it meant the same thing. For them, it was a promise of something more.


	5. Chapter 5

Steve left the theatre, the newsreels fresh in his mind. The war was getting worse, and he needed to do something. He felt useless, sitting back at home when people were dying.

A sign caught his eye. It was another recruitment poster, plastered beside one advertising war bonds. He didn’t even have enough money to buy any of those. What good was he?

There was a short line queued on the sidewalk down the street, and when Steve got closer, he realized it was an enlistment center. Squaring his shoulders, he knew what he needed to do. This wouldn't be the first time he'd tried to enlist, and this probably wouldn't be the last, not if he was denied again. He had a pile of rejections at home as mementos of his attempts.

The line moved fast, and Steve made his way into the building, filling out the forms quickly and following a nurse around to a curtained-off cubicle. Steve stripped out of his shirt and waited for the doctor. No matter how many times he'd done this, it never got easier. It was a risk what he was doing.

He heard voices outside the curtain, and then a soldier wearing an MP uniform and a doctor holding a file appeared. Steve's heart stuttered in his chest, and he started to sweat. He stood, moving to put his shirt back on. The only thing he could think was that he had been caught falsifying his forms.

"Easy, Mr. Rogers. It is Steven Rogers, isn't it?" The doctor asked. He was an older man with a goatee, though its lines were blurry where his beard was growing in. He looked kind, though, when he looked at Steve. The man waved the file at the MP. "You can go. We will be alright." He turned back toward Steve. "I'm Doctor Erskine. I believe we have much to discuss."

Steve listened, his eyes growing wider and wider with each word. As amazing as it was to finally have someone see his potential, to have a chance to help, the passion with which Erskine talked made him think this could be more than a chance to die for his country. He thought he had a chance to make a real difference. He had wanted this for a long time, dreamed of it, and now it could happen. Steve could play his part to save lives.

When Steve returned to the apartment a few hours later with a stamp of approval and date to leave, he expected to face an angry Bucky, but he had no idea how upset he would be. He had no idea that Bucky had been stewing for hours already, just waiting for Steve to show his face.

“What the hell are you thinking?” Bucky snapped as soon as Steve stepped into the kitchen. There was something in his hand, being waved at him angrily. “They aren’t joking around about it being a crime to falsify enlistment papers, and you’re not even trying. Grant Stevens from New Jersey? Really, Steve?”

It felt like the wind got knocked out of Steve. He'd found the papers. Setting his jaw, Steve jutted out his chin and crossed his arms over his chest. They didn't often fight, only a handful of times over the last few years, but this, this had the potential to be a big one.

Bucky couldn't understand that Steve couldn't sit by and watch idly as others went to fight. He deserved a chance to defend what was right, too, to fight the bullies and protect the little guy, just as much as the next guy. It had just been his health that stood in the way. No one would give his form a stamp of approval before, not with his crooked spine, weak heart, and lungs that barely worked, but now, that all changed. Doctor Erskine saw the good in him, saw what he could be. If it all went right, his poor health would just be a memory.

"Explain this to me, Steve!" Bucky waved the rejection form at him. "Tell me why I found a stack of these in the icebox."

"Because I was hoping you wouldn't look there!" Steve snapped, dropping his arms to ball his fist at his sides. He wanted to stamp his foot, but he restrained himself. He wouldn't go that far. He wasn't a child.

“Great,” Bucky said, laying the sarcasm thick. “I don’t get it. We have things good. Why are you risking everything? You can’t even ride me for more than twenty minutes without huffing and puffing and wheezing like a geriatric. What’s your plan if you do get accepted? How do you plan on surviving basic, huh? Have you even thought of that?”

Steve snapped his head to the side, staring at the door. He counted to ten and tried to let his anger go, but he was pissed. Why couldn’t Bucky understand this was something he needed to do?

Looking back at Bucky, he deflated a bit when he saw how the other man had his back to him, leaning over the counter with his head hung, the crumpled form still in his left hand.

Steve sighed. “I’m sorry, Buck, but I got to do this. I can’t—I can’t just look the other way. It’s not right.”

Bucky shook his head and moved to walk away. It cut Steve deeper than his outburst seeing him so defeated.

“Buck, wait. I—there's something I need to tell you.”

Bucky looked over his shoulder at him, his horns framing his face darkly. “What?”

Steve finished the paper out of his pocket and held it up. “I got approved. It’s an experimental program. I don’t even know all the details, but, Buck, I can fight. I can do my part.”

Bucky met his gaze. “Congratulations, Stevie, now you got a chance to die just like everyone else. 'Til the end of the line. I just thought it was gonna be a little longer.”

* * *

If there was ever a time Bucky was right, it was about basic training and Steve's ability to survive it. There were days he wasn’t sure what he had been thinking signing up, but then he remembered his ma and Bucky and every other person out there that deserved to be safe, and he pushed on.

In the second week of training, he met Margaret Carter, though she insisted on being called Peggy. Her and Doctor Erskine were always on the fringe, watching the recruits, but Peggy seemed to take a shine to Steve. She became someone he could talk to. In a way, her strength reminded him of Bucky, which made Steve's heart ache a little. He missed his friend, his lover. There were no terms for how important Bucky was to him. He'd proclaim it to the world if he could. It didn't seem fair they needed to keep their love a secret.

Some days, when the mud was caked so far into his boots that he could feel it between his toes, he wondered if he belonged. He worried he was doing the wrong thing, even though in his heart, deep down, he knew he had no other choice. His ma had always taught him to stand up for what was right, to push back against the bullies, and the Nazis were the biggest bullies the world had ever known, at least in Steve's eyes.

"So, do you have a girl back home?" Peggy asked one night as Steve was returning to the barracks. He hadn't heard her coming—the dirt road path absorbing the noise of her footfalls.

"Huh?" Steve said, turning to the side and slowing to let her catch up. He ran his fingers through his hair, brushing the errant strands away from his face. He didn't have a girl, but he did have someone. Not wanting to lie, he settled on a simple, "It's complicated."

She hummed to herself. “You know Erskine is putting all his chips on you. How do you feel about that? Think his wager will pay off?”

Steve shrugged. “I don't want to be a soldier. It's what I told him. I just want to do the right thing.”

"Sometimes, that means doing things you might not like. Don't get me wrong. It isn't that I don't think you can do this. I just wonder if you've thought it through. It'll change you, Steve, and your girl back home might not like that."

If that wasn't the truth. Steve had barely been able to explain what was going to happen before Bucky had blown up again. He steadfastly did not want Steve risking himself, which really wasn’t fair because if Bucky had been a regular man, Steve knew he would have been the first in line to sign up. It was just who Bucky was. Steve understood that. It just hurt him Bucky couldn't see past his horns and understand Steve needed to do this, too.

“We promised each other to the end of the line, wherever that may lead. I can’t believe in anything different.”

A soft smile touched Peggy’s lips. “You’re good people, Steve.”

Steve nodded. “You’re pretty great yourself. Goodnight, ma’am. Tomorrow’s promising to be just as hard.”

“Goodnight. Get some rest. A few more days and we’ll be finding out if Erskine’s bet really does pay off.”

Steve went to bed, nervous but excited for the future. Soon this would be behind him, and he’d be back in New York, going through the procedure that would change him in unknown ways and seeing Bucky again, even if only for a goodbye before he went off to war.

He hoped Bucky could forgive him. He took the necklace out of his duffel and held it in his hand. He couldn’t wear it in training, but he always kept it close. When he went for the serum next week, he’d have it with him, even if he couldn’t wear it. It was his good luck charm and his connection to Bucky.

Pressing a kiss to the pendant, Steve slipped it over his head and went to sleep.

* * *

Bucky sat at the table, writing out his thoughts, or at least, trying. Steve was due home any day, and he needed to get his head on straight before he saw him again. He didn't like leaving things the way they had. It gnawed at him every night that Steve left with their last words being in anger.

He rubbed the base of his horns and thought over what he wanted to say to Steve. Writing him a letter seemed easier before he started. Now that he wanted to put his feelings into words, he couldn’t seem to piece a full sentence together. Everything he came up with sounded accusatory or defensive.

_~~We need to talk about this~~ _

_~~I can’t just let you~~ _

_~~You know I love you but~~ _

_To hell with this_

He threw the pencil on the table and watched it roll to a stop. What was he going to do? Maybe he just needed to muckle a hold of him and tell him how scared he is of losing him. Because that's what it was. It terrified him to think of Steve anywhere near a war, even if they did do something to make him healthier, though Bucky doubted that could really happen. All of it seemed crazy, and Steve had signed right up without any questions. Not that Bucky could blame him. If they really could make him stronger, healthier, that was worth the risk. Bucky had spent too many nights over the years scared Steve might not make it through as his lungs struggled to sustain him.

He might be a little angry at Steve for putting himself in danger, but he was also proud. Steve was standing up for what he believed, his stubbornness paying off, a trait that Bucky had grown to find endearing, even if it got him into too many back-alley fights. The only difference between then and now was that instead of a fistfight, Steve was running headlong into war, which scared the daylights out of Bucky.

But it was selfish to hold that against him. Bucky knew he needed to let it go, Steve needed Bucky's support, and hell or high water, Bucky would provide it. Settled on apologizing and telling Steve that he stood by his decision, he reached for the pencil only to pause when the door handle jiggled.

He didn't even have time to react. The door flew open, and three men barged into the room, two pointing guns at Bucky. He froze, panicked at being caught in the open. Fear trickled through his veins. They didn't need to introduce themselves to him to know who they were. He'd recognize the cold eyes of a Hydra agent anywhere. They'd found him.

"It's time you came home, James. We’ve been looking for you."

"I'm not going anywhere with you. You'll have to kill me first."

"There's many ways to kill someone and leave them breathing. We've been watching you and your lover. That's what he is, isn't he? Your one true love. What would it do you to know he was dead? At the very hands of the Hydra agents you'd brought into his life?"

"Stevie's not dead."

He couldn't be. No, he'd feel it, but the ache in his chest was growing, and his stomach twisted sickly.

The leader reached into his pocket and withdrew a familiar sight. It was the worn leather cord and Celtic knot that Bucky had carved for Steve.

It felt like his heart was being shredded, the pain radiating through his bones. It couldn't be true. The pain consumed him, and he turned it into anger, charging at the men. One of the men shot him in the shoulder, allowing the other to grab Bucky's arm and twist it back. Bucky dropped his head and rammed his horns into him, knocking him back, but then something was pressed into his side, and then he felt electricity chase through his veins, and he convulsed on the floor.

The leader tsked as he ordered his goons to cuff Bucky. A bag was placed over his head. Tears welled and spilled down his cheeks as he choked on his breath. It couldn't be true, but the evidence was there. Steve wouldn't have parted from his pendant. Bucky didn't care what happened to him now. Nothing mattered anymore.

As they dragged him out of the apartment, the half-finished note laid abandoned on the table—the final line hanging like a noose in the empty room.

_To hell with this_

* * *

Steve placed his pendant on one of the tables with a few of his other belongings before stepping closer to the capsule in the center of the room. If only Bucky could see it and all the fancy gadgets around him. He always loved science fiction, and this was real life.

The thought of Bucky weighed on Steve. He still hadn’t resolved everything with Bucky, going straight from basic training to get the serum done, no stops in between. He was still a little scared of what this procedure would bring, but he was determined to see it out.

The procedure was painful, and the chaos after didn’t even let Steve have more than a moment to process how much he’d grown and changed. For the first time in his life, he could take a full breath and feel the life flow through him. He didn’t feel weak.

After Erskine was shot and Steve chased his killer, only for him to use a cyanide capsule before he could catch him, Steve returned to the lab to get his belongings, but when he got there, he found his wallet and keys, but his pendant was missing. He searched the room from top to bottom in case it was knocked down in the chaos, but he couldn’t find it.

Peggy eventually took him by the elbow and guided him out of the building, hailing him a taxi and sending him home. She told him to go see his girl, and they'd talk again soon.

When Steve got to their apartment, he paid the cabby and climbed out. It was awkward, and he hit his head on the edge of the roof because he wasn’t used to his size. He wasn’t sure what Bucky would think of him, but he hoped he wouldn’t be mad. After losing Doctor Erskine, Steve needed his lover and friend more than ever. He wanted to curl up like he was still small in Bucky’s arms and pretend it was all okay.

He'd seen two men die on the same day, a man who deserved many more days, and another Steve felt guilty for thinking deserved worse.

Trudging up the steps to the door, Steve got out his keys, but he found it unlocked when he reached the door. That was odd, but Bucky might have forgotten. Shrugging it off, he stepped inside and looked around the dark apartment.

He could see better now than he ever could, but he turned on the light anyway. His heart caught in his throat when he saw a single piece of paper and a pencil on the table. He approached it slowly, scared what it could mean, part of his brain telling him lies, telling him it wouldn't ever be anything bad. Maybe it was a grocery list, but then, where was Bucky? Why wasn't he there to greet him? It was too quiet.

Picking up the paper, he read the scratched out lines, his lungs tightening in a way not much different than they would have when he was smaller. He swore his heart stopped beating as he made out the scribbled lines, and then the final one, written sharply like he was angry.

_To hell with this_

Steve crumpled, folding down into himself and collapsing onto the floor, the note clutched in his hand. Bucky had left him. Though Steve's lungs worked, it didn't feel like he was breathing air. It felt like water in his lungs. Dark spots danced in his vision, and he tried to breathe, but his world felt like it had ended. He choked on his sobs.

He thought they’d had ‘til the end of the line, he thought they had forever, but he was wrong. He’d lost his best friend, and there was no going back.

* * *

Losing Bucky made the decision easier, knowing his smile wouldn’t be waiting for him, his warm, calloused hands wouldn’t cup his neck again, knowing no one would miss him. It made it easier.

The plane needed to be put down, or lives would be lost. He couldn't let it all be for nothing. Saving the people in the path of these bombs, that was something he could do, and he would.

Looking out the window, he could see the ocean and patches of ice. This was as good a place as any.

Picking up the radio, Steve called out, hoping someone would be there to hear to comfort him in the end.

“Come in. This is Captain Rogers. Do you read me?”

A voice he knew as belonging to Jim Morita answered back, “Captain Rogers, what is your—”

Before he could finish, Peggy's familiar voice came over the air, cutting him off. "Steve, is that you? Are you all alright?

Relief flooded his veins. If he couldn't spend his final moments talking to Bucky, apologizing, at least he could have Peggy.

“Peggy! Schmidt’s dead,” he relayed, knowing time was short. He glanced out the window, looking at the icy water again, and he felt a stab of fear for the unknown. Would there be something after death for him? The things he’d done with Bucky … He should regret it, they probably earned him a place in hell, but he knew he wouldn’t take back a single second, undo a single touch. If God wanted to punish him for loving Bucky, then it was no God Steve wanted, but he didn’t know where that left him now as he faced death.

“What about the plane?” Peggy’s voice scratched over the radio.

“That’s a little bit tougher to explain.”

“Give me your coordinates, I’ll find you a safe landing site.”

"There's no safe landing, but I can try to put her down, and at least—at least I can save New York."

“Just wait, let me get Howard. He’ll know what to do. It doesn’t need to end like this, Steve. Think of that girl back home.”

Steve's throat felt tight, and tears clung to his lashes. He swiped a hand over his eyes quickly and then returned it to the controls. "I never did tell you. I guess I thought—I thought I was protecting him, protecting us. It doesn't matter now, though. He's gone, he left me and—and if I can do one right thing, one good thing, let it be this. Let me protect him. He's in New York. I know he is. Probably in the damned church right now."

“Steve, you never—I had no idea.”

“I loved him—still do. I thought we had time. I’m sorry, Peggy, but it’s time. If you ever meet a man that looks like the devil, if he ever comes knocking, don't be afraid. His name is Bucky, and tell him I did it for him.”

Pressing the controls downward, the plane collided with the ice and water. The last thing he heard was Peggy’s voice pleading his name over the radio.

* * *

_Present Day_

He hadn't dreamt in the ice or felt time passing. Waking up in a new world shook Steve to his core. So many years had passed, and everyone he knew was dead or dying.

Bucky's church was the first place Steve tried to find, but it was now a convenience store. Time had wiped any trace of the place Steve and Bucky grew to care for each other. All he had left were memories. 

He did his duty for Shield, fighting aliens, meeting gods, and how could he forget his first time meeting Howard’s son. None of it felt real, though. It felt like he was floating through life, a little disconnected and lost.

Of all Steve’s regrets, his biggest was losing Bucky. If only he had another chance to say the words, to tell him he loved him and that the end of the line meant something to him. Things were never meant to go this way.

Fate could be a fickle thing, though, and Steve had no idea that just maybe the universe had heard his wish.

It had been a hectic week. Hydra had reared its head in Shield, and a ghost, a man, a soldier, was hunting the team. Whoever the man was, he’d already shot Fury, and Steve wasn’t stupid enough to underestimate him.

This soldier, the Winter Soldier, they called him. No one had ever seen his face and lived, no photos existed, but they didn’t have to for Steve to recognize him the moment he saw him, his heart seizing in his chest.

Steve stood on the street, fire flickering in his periphery from beneath the overturned cars, his eyes locked on the man. No, he was more. The sawed-off horns were proof of that. The man Steve both knew and didn’t strutted towards him with the intent to kill clear in his blue-grey eyes.

The shield nearly fell from Steve’s hand as he stood there in shock.

“Bucky?” The name fell from his lips. It had been so long since he’d spoken it, it nearly cut his tongue like glass.

The soldier raised his gun, something flickering in his eyes, before he rasped, “Who the hell is Bucky?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanna know a secret? Up until three days ago, the story ended here. lol. But when I was editing, I needed more, so I wrote an epilogue to go with this. Don't worry. It will be up tomorrow.


	6. Epilogue

It took a helicarrier crashing into the Potomac to give Steve his first sign of hope. Bucky, in his black gear and sawed-off horns, had pulled him from the river, leaving him sputtering water from his lungs on the shore. 

When Steve finally got his breath back, he looked to his left at a face so familiar yet foreign, it shook him to his core. Bucky stood on the sandy shoreline, partway up the embankment already like he was planning to bolt any second. His hands were splayed at his sides, looking like he either wanted to grab a weapon or tell Steve not to come any closer. 

Steve breathed in shallow gasps. Sirens were approaching in the distance, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before reality breached the little bubble that had formed around them. 

Bucky stared him down, and Steve stared right back, taking in all the little details he never thought he’d see again. Even though the horns had been cut and his hair was longer, damp strands clinging to his face, he couldn’t change his eyes. Steve could still see his friend in there, the man he had come to love, or maybe he always loved him. Steve couldn’t think of a time he didn’t. It had always been the two of them against the world. 

Bucky’s mouth twitched, then he spoke, his voice gravelly and rough. “You used to be smaller.”

Steve’s sucked in a breath so fast he nearly choked on it. He didn’t want to hope because he was terrified of losing it, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Yeah, yeah, Buck. That’s right. I used to be a lot smaller. You said you’d never seen someone so—”

“Someone so scrawny before,” Bucky finished for him, and Steve had to force himself to stay where he was and not jump to his feet and wrap Bucky in his arms. Bucky’s face twisted, and he glanced over his shoulder, probably listening to the growing sounds of sirens. He looked back at Steve, his expression smoothing out. “You nearly died.”

“So did you.”

Bucky nodded, his hands flexing at his sides. Steve held himself still, afraid he might spook him. The last thing he wanted was to lose Bucky now. 

“I can’t stay,” Bucky’s voice was strained, and Steve wondered how much he remembered. He wondered if Bucky wanted to touch him as much as Steve did him. “It’s not safe." He paused, looking down at his metal hand. "I’m not safe.”

“No, Buck. I thought—I thought you were gone. I thought that I’d lost you and somehow you’re still alive, and I can't let you go. I won’t. Please, Buck, don’t leave me. Not again. Whatever’s happened, we’ll figure it out together.”

Bucky looked out over the water, eyes searching the distance, then he turned back to Steve. He expected him to run or maybe to argue. Steve was ready for it. He lifted his chin in defiance, ready to tell Bucky all the reasons he should stay, but then Bucky did something unexpected. He crossed the distance between them and grabbed Steve by the arm, pulling him to his feet. Steve let himself be moved, too stunned to resist, not that he ever would. Where Bucky went, Steve would always follow.

“You still look like him, the little punk with too-big shoes and not a lick of sense. I shouldn’t trust you, I shouldn’t trust anyone, but I do. I trust you.” Bucky’s head tilted just slightly to the side. “I feel you in here.” He pressed two fingers to his heart. “I don’t know what it means, but I don’t feel like I can be without you any more than I can be without air to breathe.”

Steve’s throat felt thick, and he had to swallow against a painful lump. He nodded a few times quickly. “I know, Buck. I feel the same way. How about we get out of here and then figure it out together.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky said slowly. "Okay." He nodded, then jerked his head toward the bank. "Follow me.” 

Bucky turned and hurried up the bank toward the road. Cars lined the roadside, and people were standing outside their cars, watching the helicarrier sink into the river. Steve followed right behind Bucky, unsure of the plan. With all the phones out recording, Steve didn’t want to risk them being seen. Bucky moved fast, walking up to a black Suburban and yanking the door open. The car was still running, so they wouldn’t need to steal the keys or hotwire it. Someone yelled from the bridge, and Steve glanced in that direction to see a man running toward them. 

Steve hesitated for a moment, but then the window on the passenger side lowered, and Bucky yelled to him to get in. Taking a breath, Steve grabbed the door handle and hopped inside. He didn’t bother with a seatbelt. 

The tires screeched as Bucky peeled away.

Steve glanced over his shoulder to see if they were followed. So far, they were safe. 

Sinking back into his seat, Steve used his teeth to pull his wet glove from his hand, then peeled the other off, tossing them between the seats. He scrubbed a hand over his face as he tried to think what the next step in the plan should be. They needed someplace safe to lay low, somewhere they could get their heads on straight. 

They drove for almost an hour in silence. The tension in the car was palpable. Steve knew what he needed to do, though. There were only a few people he trusted to help them, but Tony was the one with the most resources. He needed to talk to his friend. Maybe he had a place they could lay low. There was so much that they needed to do. Bucky was a wanted criminal, and there was the glaringly obvious issue of Bucky’s mental state. Steve didn’t want to think about what Bucky had to endure to become the pliant soldier. 

At least he had broken free, even if just a little. He’d saved Steve. He remembered. It wasn’t much, but Steve would take it. In truth, Steve would be happy with less. He’d thought he’d lost Bucky before he went into the ice, but now he was back, and Steve was happy to have him in whatever way he could. 

Steve instructed Bucky to take them to the next rest area and pull over. Steve was able to find a payphone, and using change from the car, he called Tony’s cell. The man listened to Steve, and with a sigh, sounding very much against his better judgment, Tony gave Steve directions to a house he owned in upstate New York. Tony said they’d talk more in person.

Getting back in the car, Steve informed Bucky of the plan, and with a grunt and a nod, Bucky pulled back onto the highway. 

Steve couldn’t help but watch Bucky from the corner of his eye as they drove down the highway. His hands gripped the wheel tightly, and his posture was stiff. Steve could see he had his jaw clenched and working. There was a permanent line between his brows. He looked so much like the man he fell in love with, but so different, too. The laugh lines had never faded, though, and maybe that meant something. 

Clearing his throat, Steve fiddled with the knobs for the heat until it was blowing forcefully through the vents. They’d both been soaked in the river, and even though Steve had the serum, he wasn’t beyond feeling cold. 

“So,” Steve began lamely, and Bucky responded by glaring at him briefly before looking back at the road. Steve swallowed, licking his lips. “We’ll need gas or to switch cars.”

“I’m dangerous.” Bucky’s voice was sharp, and he wrung his hands on the wheel. “This isn’t safe. I could hurt you, and I don’t even know you.”

Steve’s head snapped to the side, his mouth agape. “You’re not dangerous, and you said it yourself. You remember me.”

Bucky huffed, eyes narrowing. “I remember a scrawny kid with no sense. I remember you not breathing good, and I remember ...”

“What?” Steve asked, needing to know. He wanted to know everything and anything Bucky had to offer.

Bucky frowned. “I think—I think it was a dream. You were kissing me.”

Steve’s heart swelled, and he nearly choked on the rising emotion. “It wasn’t a dream. That wasn’t—I did kiss you. We kissed—a lot, actually.” 

Bucky glanced at him then looked back to the road. He was quiet for a moment, but Steve could see him thinking. “There are words. They had words that controlled me. I’m not safe to be around. I’ll never be safe.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, they say these words, and then I’m not in charge anymore. I could kill you. I almost did..”

Steve shook his head, his chin tilting up. “You wouldn’t. I know you wouldn’t. You stopped on the helicarrier. You pulled me out of the river. You’ve broken it before, right?” He shook his head again, looking out the window. “I don’t think you would.”

Bucky huffed through his nose, tightening his grip on the wheel. “You’re just as stubborn and stupid as you used to be. Getting bigger didn’t change a damned thing.”

A smile ghosted over Steve’s lips. They might have taken him, molded him, but deep down at his core, Bucky would always be the same boy from Brooklyn Steve grew up with. “Yeah, well, that’s why you always loved me.”

Then he froze. 

He hadn’t meant to say that, not yet. He didn’t want to push Bucky further than he was ready to go, but then Bucky shook his head and said, “Yeah, and don’t I know it.”

And something settled in his chest. There were still a lot of questions, but they had time. They had their second chance. 

Steve had once thought that for them, the end of the line meant I love you, but it was more than that. It was a promise, too, a promise he would make sure to keep. He wouldn't let Bucky down again, not again, not this time. 

* * *

The safe house, a lake house in upstate New York, was everything that Steve and Bucky needed. And true to his word, Tony came to visit them soon after their arrival. 

If Tony was shocked by the horns, he didn’t say, though Steve noticed that his gaze lingered on the sawed-off stumps.

“So, it seems we have things to talk about,” Tony said, brushing by them as he let himself in.

They convened in the living room, Tony nursing a cup of coffee and Steve and Bucky fidgeting in their seats. Steve laid out everything for Tony, everything he knew, and Bucky, for the most part, stayed silent, only interjecting how dangerous he thought he was. 

Tony had been intrigued by the trigger words, but he said he was sure they could figure out a solution. As for Bucky being a wanted man, that would take some more time, but Steve trusted Tony to help them. Money and influence could achieve a lot. 

It wasn’t going to be an easy road, but they were going to be okay because there wasn’t another option. They’d finally found each other again, and nothing could keep them apart now that they were back together. As kids, they had been thick as thieves and now was no different. They slotted back together, completing each other in ways nothing else could. And if they couldn’t clear Bucky’s name, then they would live on the run. Steve didn’t care. He wasn’t giving up his chance at happiness. Bucky deserved a happy ending. They both did. 

* * *

It took two years for the dust to finally settle and for it to be safe for them to move back into the city together. 

There had been a trial, and Bucky faced judgment for his crimes as the Winter Soldier, including the death of Tony’s parents, which had been revealed during the trigger words' removal. Steve had thought it was the end when that had come out, but Tony handled it better than most would have. After taking a few weeks away, Tony had returned and picked up where they’d left off. 

Steve knew Tony had a lot to work through, but the man had a bigger heart than most people knew, and by the time the trigger words were removed, he’d found forgiveness for Bucky, offering to work on his arm and ease some of the residual pain Bucky had using it. 

“What’s this?” Steve asked, picking up a small, newspaper-wrapped present from the coffee table in their shared Brooklyn apartment. Things since the trial had become good for them, and Bucky had become accepted by society, horns and all. It wasn’t like New Yorkers hadn’t seen weirder, stranger things. There had been aliens and gods, after all, and his trial had made him a bit of a celebrity. 

Bucky stood beside the couch, chewing his lips nervously. His horns were still filed off a few inches from his head. They hadn’t regrown, not that they thought they would. His horns had stopped growing in his twenties. Steve missed them, the way they used to frame his face, but he had come to accept the loss. He couldn’t go back in time, and really, he didn’t want to. He was happy with what they had now. 

There had been so many questions, so much discussion over the years as Bucky remembered more and more. Steve still remembered the heartbreak in Bucky’s eyes when he realized Steve had found the note the day he was taken. 

But in the end, all they could do was accept the past for what it was and move on, though Steve still felt a pang of guilt for not looking for Bucky. He shouldn’t have believed for a second that he would leave him. He’d always carry that regret, though Bucky had forgiven him multiple times over. It was just an ache he’d learn to live with, something maybe time would heal.

Bucky took a seat beside Steve, resting his forearms on his knees, and sucked in a breath. “It’s for you. This is the first—it’s been two years.”

“Aww, Buck, you didn’t have to,” Steve said, holding the small parcel between his hands, running his fingers over the inky print. 

“Open it.”

Steve smiled at Bucky with a nod and then began to tear into the paper. He couldn’t help but feel nostalgic as he remembered the first present he’d gotten from Bucky, wrapped in the same way. 

When the final piece of paper tore away, Steve caught sight of what was in the wrappings, and his heart jumped to his throat. His hands shook as he touched the small, wooden pendant that hung from a leather cord. It was an exact replica of the one Bucky had given him years ago. 

He didn’t know what to say, but thankfully, Bucky cleared his throat and began. “I remember, you know, when that Hydra agent said you were dead.”

“Buck,” Steve breathed, more sadness in that one word than ever should be there.

Bucky shook his head, holding up a hand. “Just let me finish, punk.”

Steve nodded for him to continue, watching the way Bucky’s eyes turned sad. 

“The world ended for me that day—or at least I thought it did,” Bucky said after a moment, “but then I got you back. It took seventy years and a lot of pain, but I got you back, and for the first time since we shared that apartment, the hole in me, the hole left from losing my family, from losing you, it wasn’t so empty. I don’t feel hollow or like half a man anymore."

Bucky paused, rubbing his cheek. He dropped his hand to his lap, eyes falling onto the pendant. "I know it’s probably stupid, but I just thought you should have a new one.”

Steve swallowed, gripping the pendant like a lifeline. “I love it, Buck. I love you.”

Bucky smiled weakly, and he pointed at the necklace. “I, uh, called the historical society. I didn’t think it would pan out, but I got lucky. I found where some of the church pews went before the demo’d the building.”

Steve looked down at the pendant, something tugging at his heart. “This is really from the church?”

Bucky nodded, a small smile on his lips. “I guess they'd mostly gone to the trash, but a few were saved. I tracked one down and bought it—made you that. It seemed fitting.”

Steve had tears in his eyes. “I should have never taken the old one off. If I hadn’t—so much would be different.”

“I’m glad things worked out this way, Stevie. It means we ended up together. We get our happy ending.”

“Yeah, we do, don’t we?” Steve leaned in and pressed his lips to Bucky’s, holding the pendant tight in his hand. Pulling back, he rested his forehead against Bucky's, so their noses touched. “'Til the end of the line," he breathed.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this little story. I loved writing it, I hope you're happy with the ending they got, even though this epilogue wasn't planned. Thank you for taking a chance on a different story. I hope you liked it.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on tumblr [here](https://snarky-drabbles.tumblr.com/). Thank you so much for reading!


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